Welcome to Muir Island
by Sheherazade's Fable
Summary: Set pre and post XMEN DOFP. As Charles shuts the doors of Westchester, a new sanctuary for mutants is rising in Scotland, one that started when Moira MacTaggert intervened to save a young mutant. Now, if she could remember the first mutant she met, Moira might be able to figure out why she was left behind. Charles/Moira Canon Pairings.
1. Chapter 1

September 12, 1968

_"I don't care what they do to me," Moira said, "I will never tell the CIA where you are."_

_Charles gave her a long, sad look. She wasn't sure why he did that. He had become sadder in the past few days, more and more withdrawn. She had hoped that she had pulled him out of himself enough to see that Cuba hadn't been his fault, to see the strength that she did._

_ He had laughed, he had smiled, but now something seemed to be pulling him down again. __The sadness in his eyes seemed to mellow somewhat before he smiled tenderly at her. She smiled back. They could continue on like this, getting a little better each day. _

_Charles would make it in the end. She was sure of it. _

_"Of course not," he said. _

_He reached up and Moira let herself lean in. His lips were familiar enough to her by now, almost as though they were part of her. She closed her eyes and sighed into the kiss, and then-_

Moira woke up, her neck aching and her face tingling. She pushed herself off the table and held her head in her hands, trying to stave off the massive headache that she could feel coming. It always followed these dreams, or flashbacks, or whatever they were.

The pain began spreading as she pushed away from the table. Papers scattered in her wake and she moved towards the medicine cabinet. She measured out two aspirin, but she knew that it was probably useless. Moira dry-swallowed them both anyway.

She laid down on it, and winced at the way the springs creaked. She wasn't tired, not after her impromptu nap while reading her bills, but laying down helped. She put a hand to her forehead, trying to measure her breathing. In about thirty minutes the headache would pass.

She'd been having them ever since she woke up in her apartment in Virginia, the last few months a blur. The next few hours were still blurry to her. She remembered being called into a meeting with McCone, trying to focus on a room that was spinning. A few random memories had floated to the top of her head.

Levine had later taken her aside and told her that she'd mentioned a kiss. He'd had to, because he felt the need to explain to her why everyone was sniggering behind her back. At first she had been shocked. She couldn't remember what she'd had for breakfast that day, and now they were telling her that she had said that?

One of the first things that Moira had learned was not to let anyone at the CIA see her as a woman. It wasn't fair, but it had never led to anywhere good. It was one of the first things that could kill your credibility. Now she had made a fool of herself in front of some of the government's top officials.

Levine had told her that it was the fault of one of the mutants she'd been working with, a telepath named Charles Xavier. He'd been angry, practically spitting out the name. Moira couldn't feel anger though. The name caused a momentary pang, one she couldn't quite place. If she concentrated she could just conjure an image of what he looked like. Whenever she tried for anything else, she ended up feeling nauseous.

She'd thought it was just a stomach flu, and given how generous McCone had been with leave time after the meeting, she thought that she should at least try to get over it. It felt disgusting to take a favor from the very people who were using her as an object of fun, but she'd been so disoriented that she'd needed it. Levine had visited her a few times, the worry on his face clear.

Then the brief memories began flitting across her mind, resulting in painful headaches. When she returned to work, trying to ignore the gossip that was still going on behind her back as she was put on desk duty, the headaches had continued. As had the sniggering.

It had been the assignment back to the typing pool that had made Moira realize what was happening. Her career was gone, snatched away by inopportune timing and whatever had been done to her mind to make her utter those stupid words. This man, a man who she had obviously cared for if her scraps of memories were anything to go by, had abandoned her.

So she had resigned. Levine had told her that she didn't need to, that he would fight McCone on her reassignment, but Moira didn't see any point. Levine could no more save her from being sent to the typing pool than he could save himself if McCone got angry at him for standing up for her. So she had smiled sadly at him, promised to stay in touch, and left.

At first she hadn't known where to go. She had dabbled in a few clerical jobs, her knowledge of other languages proving useful. Then she'd had word that her aunt had died in Scotland and, as her aunt's sole relative, her property was being transferred to her.

Moira had gone down to make sense of it all. She'd had to quit her job to do so: her last boss had been a jerk. Her aunt hadn't been particularly wealthy, but there was a small island that had been in their family for years. It had been rented out by butterfly researchers in recent years, which had brought her aunt a decent amount of income. She'd owned a house in the neighboring town of Lincross on the mainland. Moira was currently living in it, trying to pay the bills for the funeral and figure out what she was going to do next.

The headache passed, and she sat up and looked out the window. It was winter, so it got dark early. Moira rubbed her temples and looked around. When she was younger, her family would take her on vacation there. Moira hadn't really liked the damp, rural area. She had liked her aunt though. As a little girl, her aunt's scientific studies and European travels had seemed like the stuff of high adventure. It was then that Moira had started to have grand ideas about her own life, about the adventures that she was going to have.

She bit her lip. How had it come to this? Jobless, alone, her health suffering, and all but friendless. She had never been one to feel sorry for herself, but she wondered bitterly if she should start. The past few years hadn't exactly lived up to her hopes. Moira couldn't even remember what she was being punished for.

Tears threatened, and she pushed them away angrily. She had to focus on the things in front of her, practical reality. If she spent all day thinking like this than nothing would ever get done. It was easier to think of it like that.

* * *

><p>Charles sighed and looked up at the ceiling. It was starting to crack. Part of him dully told him that he should get someone to come in and fix it. The other part of him didn't give a damn. If the house fell apart and killed him then at least he wouldn't have to bother any more.<p>

He supposed that Hank would care though, and that nagging feeling was the only thing that allowed him to get up in the morning. Not that there was anything for him to do. The last of the teachers and students had left three weeks ago. Or had it been three months? The days and weeks seemed to merge together now.

Hank and he were the only ones left, leaving the school to be his latest failure on a rather long list. He chuckled to himself, the sound bitter and sharp. He was up now though, and sleep was no longer a refuge.

One thing was though. Charles opened the bottle of brandy and took a swig. The alcohol burned soothingly going down his throat. He was glad now that he had laid up a supply in his room. It meant that he didn't have to go downstairs for anything. The elevator always made so much noise, and he hated the wheelchair ferociously. He was sure that Hank was starting to worry, but he'd deal with that later.

He turned his head and saw Raven's picture. He sighed. She hadn't spoken with him since Cuba. He hadn't even seen her. Alex had been adamant that they needed to go after them, to do something, but what had been the point? It would have just instigated a manhunt that they had neither the power nor the resources to carry through. All they could do was a few rescue missions, repair and preventative work against the Brotherhood.

Alex had argued for a manhunt, right up until Sean had been killed. Some of Alex's fight had gone after that, although Charles had still clashed with him. Not that he needed to argue with Alex about anything anymore. All he had to worry about was the boy getting killed horribly in an overseas war.

Charles took another swig. There were pictures he didn't have on that table, pictures he wished he did. Charles wanted a picture of Erik, if only so that he could have something to break and curse at when the mood struck him. The betrayal still hurt. Erik had been his first real friend, the first one that he had trusted with his life, and instead he'd left Charles without his sister or the use of his legs.

There was one more picture that he wanted though. He finished the bottle and hung onto it limply. Charles closed his eyes and thought of brown eyes and auburn hair. If he concentrated he could just feel the caress of her lips on his, the way her hair had felt when he threaded through his fingers.

_"Moira, you should go."_

_"No."_

_He shook his head, willing her to understand so he didn't have to say it out loud. He didn't want her to see him this way. It was better for him to just say goodbye now, for her to leave the hospital and never come back. _

_Charles was never going to walk again. The doctor had been quite adamant about this. It meant that, in addition to having lost two of the people he cared about, he had also lost the use of his legs. The beach had washed everything away, and now, the final humiliation was to ask the last people in his life who meant anything to him to teach him how to do everyday tasks again. He wouldn't do it. _

_However, her beautiful eyes were fixed on his with determination. Why couldn't she understand, see things from his point of view? She, like the boys in the hall, had a picture of someone he wasn't, someone he couldn't be. _

_Her strength and bravery had made her so different from any woman he'd ever seen before. It was what had attracted him to her, but he wished she wouldn't fight him anymore. He was so tired of fighting. _

_"Moira...I...I don't want..." he tried. _

_"Charles," she said._

_She reached out, surrounding his hand with her own. It was warm and gentle. Moira gave him a sad smile. _

_"It doesn't matter. I swear it doesn't," she said. _

_"It's going to matter," said Charles, "It does matter."_

__Tears had welled up in his eyes, and he saw them pool in hers. Moira brought his hand to her lips. __

_"It's going to be alright," she whispered. _

Charles opened his eyes and flung the bottle at the wall. It shattered and he buried his head in his hands. It hadn't been alright though, and she was gone, just like everyone else. The only difference was that, unlike Erik and Raven, he had forced her away.

At least she hadn't had to see what he'd become.


	2. Chapter 2

September 20, 1968

_"How many students are you going to take?"_

_"As many as I can, and then more."_

Moira finished up with the last of the estate papers nursing the last dregs of a cold cup of coffee. The house would have to be sold: there was no way around it. She couldn't live there. She was only one person, and that house had been built for a family, or someone with a lot going on in their life. Moira had neither.

That would be simple enough though. It was in a good location, and she had good assurances from a few realtors that she'd contacted. That would net her some good money, money she would have to figure out what to do with. It would certainly give her time to find another job.

She got up and walked towards the kitchen. It was dark, but if she squinted she could see the faint lights of Muir Island. That couldn't be sold, and not because of her requirements. The island was the last part of her aunt, of her old life, that she could really claim, and it was special because of that.

The scientists there would give her a nice little income, enough to offset the property taxes. There was a house there too, and she could live there if she felt like applying for Scottish citizenship, or some sort of alien residency.

Moira sighed, rubbing her head. Was she going to stay there? Could she or, rather, should she? It wasn't as though there was anything left for her back in the states. Levine could come and visit, and maybe she could live the rest of her life out as a crazy old cat lady.

She laughed at herself and immediately hated herself for it. This was not what she had wanted for her life. It was a phrase that she was sick of hearing.

_If you're so sick of it, then why don't you do something?_

Moira pushed the thought away and went into the kitchen. It would be much easier to make dinner than it would be to contemplate that thought. It would have to be looked at sometime, but not at 2 a.m. in the morning when she wasn't sure if she was cooking breakfast or dinner.

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she walked up and investigated the contents of the pantry. There wasn't much. Moira had never been much of a cook, studying to be a CIA agent hadn't left much time for that, but things had truly devolved since she had lost her job.

She had just picked out a can of soup when she heard a faint scream in the distance. She frowned and looked out the window. If she concentrated, she could see a few flashlights. What was going on? Was someone in trouble?

The flashlights moved, and she wondered if it was some sort of night rescue. That would make sense, or at least a little more sense than everything else was currently making. Perhaps someone had fallen. Perhaps they needed help.

Moira hesitated for a moment, her hand still on the can of soup, the other reaching for the burner. She wasn't that person anymore, the person who went off into danger to try and make a difference. She wasn't even sure if she could help if she went out.

_When did that stop you?_

The thought came on the heels of her earlier thought, but it still knocked the wind out of her. It reminded her so much of who she used to be. Moira tried to rationalize with herself, to say that things were different now, but the thoughts sickened her.

_Is this really what you want?_

She slammed the can down and grabbed her coat. Moira fished a flashlight out of the side table and hurried out of the door, locking it quickly behind her. Once upon a time she had believed that she could be in charge of her life. Although she could feel a headache coming on, she wanted to be that person again.

She ran towards the group of flashlights. Part of her felt foolish, but she felt like that all the time now. If everything was alright, then it wouldn't matter and she could go back to reheating soup. If something was wrong, then at least she would have done something.

Moira was going to flip on her flashlight, ask what was wrong, but something stopped her. As she got closer, they seemed to be talking excitedly. It didn't sound like a search party. When she got closer it looked like a lot of them were brandishing sticks. She even saw a gun.

An uncomfortable feeling started in her gut. Something was wrong. She kept her flashlight off and skirted on the outside of the group. When she moved towards what she thought was the front of the group, she stopped.

A small child was lying on the ground, looking around her fearfully at the group. She was panting, her thin hands clasping an ankle that was rapidly swelling. Moira felt the flashlight go limp in her hand, her eyes widening. One of the men came closer and the girl kicked at the ground to get away, snarling.

This wasn't a normal snarl though. Her eyes turned gold. The girl's lips were curled back, showing Moira teeth that were rapidly elongating. Some of her more intact memories sparked of a young woman with blue skin, of a boy whose screams could shatter glass.

The girl continued to snarl, but it only took another moment for Moira to realize that she was scared. Moira's mind was assessing the situation, which was as simple as it was disgusting. The group, mob, whatever it was, was trying to hurt the girl and judging from the scrapes that decorated the girl, the filthy state of her clothes, they had probably already hurt her. She'd been able to outrun them, but now her ankle was twisted and she couldn't. The girl was scared that she was going to be hurt more.

Her mind whirred for a second more as one of the men tsked and approached the girl. She felt her grip on the flashlight tightened. There was only one thing to do now. Her body moved, something that had fallen dormant finally waking up.

Moira strode up and smacked the man in the face as hard as she could with the flashlight, aiming for his nose. There was a crunch of bone. Blood splattered and she shoved him back, forcing him towards the rest of the dregs of humanity he was with.

"How dare you!" she screamed.

The man got to his face, pinching his nose and glaring at her. Moira heard a sharp intake of breath from behind her, but she couldn't look at the child right now. She had to keep her attention focused. Who knew what these monsters were going to do next?

"Ma'am," the man said, trying to muster as much dignity as he could, "Yae are very much mistaken-"

"No I'm not!" Moira yelled.

"That is nae a child!"

She thrust a finger at him, her entire body trembling with rage.

"Yes she is!"

Moira had to keep her voice loud. There were other people in the village below her. She had to make sure that they heard a ruckus, some sort of commotion, had to make sure that one of them called the police. It was the best plan she had.

It wasn't the only thing she had though. She'd been through basic crowd control classes at the CIA. It wasn't exactly the same, but if she could just separate them, move them away from their pack mentality, then she could buy more time.

"All I see here is a group of men threatening a frightened little girl!" she screamed, "Do you feel proud of yourselves?"

"She's nae human!" another man yelled.

"Why the hell does that matter?" Moira snapped, "Whatever else she is, she's a child!"

The men were looking distinctly uncomfortable. Good. She dared a look back at the child. The girl was watching her as though she were some strange, foreign thing, something that she had never seen before.

Her heart swelled and burned as she turned back to the rest of them.

"You like hurting children?" she growled.

She planted her feet firmly into the ground.

"You're not getting to her without getting through me," she said.

"Miss, you shouldn't-" a man began.

"We're getting nae where with this woman," the man whose nose she'd broken said, "Pull her aside and kill the thing."

"We can't just kill her!" another man said, "No one knows the girl, but if she's watching-"

"Enough talk!" someone else said.

She saw a man push his way to the front, level a gun. Moira saw that it wasn't aimed at her, but at the little girl. Her heart froze, and then it beat even faster. She could remember shots ringing out on a beach, shots that she might have fired, shots that had stolen something she couldn't remember. Moira moved as fast as she could, her grip on the flashlight loosening, her body feeling light, her sight unfocused.

The gunshot ripped through her shoulder. The little girl screamed. Moira put her hands onto the ground to steady herself, keep herself from falling into the mud. She looked over her shoulder and glared at the men, her breath harsh.

Their eyes were wide, the man with the gun gaping. She gave another panting breath, feeling too shaky to turn around.

"I told you," she panted, "You have to get through me first."

She meant it. After living apathetically for years, she could feel a spark burning inside of her. In that moment, Moira really didn't care if they killed her. If she could buy the girl a few more seconds, if she could die doing the right thing, then it didn't matter.

The man with the broken nose grabbed for the gun. Moira moved and caught the second gunshot in her ribcage. Moira couldn't hold back the scream as her rib shattered. The girl gave another shriek, and Moira saw that she was trying to push herself closer. Was she trying to distract them? No, it would undo everything.

There were shouts, and she saw the men begin to run. The man with the broken nose lowered the gun again, but another man grabbed his arm and dragged him away. Moira saw flashlights and sighed. The village had finally woken up. Hopefully there would be someone who would take the girl to safety.

She sighed again and allowed herself to fall backwards to the ground. Moira felt tired, and the world looked hazy. Then she saw one figure come into focus: the little girl. Her eyes were wide and shocked as she reached a trembling hand towards her.

"You're safe sweetheart," Moira said.

The girl choked on a sob.

"Rahne," she whispered.

The word was whispered and rough, as though the voice was worn and beaten from disuse.

"Rahne," Moira smiled, "It's a pretty name."

She moved on her side, pain shooting through her as she did so. Her legs felt cold, and she wondered why that was.

_"I can't feel my legs."_

_"It's alright," Moira whispered, "You're just in shock. That's all."_

_Moira glanced up at Hank, who she hoped would confirm her diagnosis. But as he knelt in the sand, she saw a very different expression on his face. Moira knew then, knew that this was more than shock. _

_It took everything she had not to cry for the man in front of her then._

A headache was coming on now, pain in her head to match the pain in her torso. Her eyes fluttered and she exhaled slowly.

"No!" Rahne screamed, "God, please, don't! Please!"

Then it went black.


	3. Chapter 3

October 5, 1968

Moira finished reheating the soup and poured it into two bowls. She winced when she did so: her arm and ribs still hurt. So little time had passed since she'd been discharged from the hospital, but she would have to get over her injuries.

"Rahne, dinner time!" she called.

There was a scuffling noise, and she heard Rahne creep down the stairs. It made Moira clench her hand in a fist until her knuckles went white whenever Rahne did that. She still flinched whenever Moira moved too fast, and Moira had found out that Rahne often took the covers from her bed and slept underneath it, a kind of flimsy shelter.

More than anything, Moira wanted to find those men and hurt them, repeatedly and intensely. The doctors had told her that Rahne was undergoing an intense form of trauma. She supposed that was to be expected from a girl who had spent God knew how long wandering alone in the countryside.

There was more there though, and she had finally found a use for her old CIA training. Whatever Rahne had been through, it had made her intensely suspicious of people. Moira suspected that wasn't just the result of living by herself in an untamed world. There was abuse there, pain.

It made her attachment to Moira strange, but it wasn't a mystery. Moira had the feeling that she was the first person who had ever stood up for Rahne, the first person to tell her that she'd protect her and meant it. It meant that Rahne had given her her trust, though she hadn't given it to the paramedics who had tried to help her. Maybe she hadn't been able to realize that was a form of help.

It also meant that, when she made up her mind about Rahne, she'd had to ask Levine not to visit. He'd been incredulous and, if their positions had been reversed, she would have been too. His best friend had just been shot twice and now she was telling him that she was adopting a child and that he needed to stay away. It had taken three hours of very specific details to convince him to do so. Levine was a kind man, but she couldn't risk frightening Rahne this early in their relationship.

He was a good friend, and he'd understood in the end. Moira hadn't officially adopted Rahne, the paperwork was still being processed, but she knew it would go through. The hospital staff were vouching for her, saying that she was the only one that the little girl trusted. While Moira would have preferred a different reason, she knew that it would at least make sure that Rahne went to a good household.

There had, of course, been problems. She was reminded of that when she watched Rahne slide down the stairs. The girl was careful not to put any weight on her damaged ankle, but she was using her hands as an extra form of support.

It made her look wild, like the feral child she had been forced to become. Moira wasn't going to stand for that. If Rahne retained some habits from living alone, then that was to be expected. However, Moira knew that it would make her stand out from other people, make her vulnerable.

More than that, Rahne was a danger to herself with those habits. If she kept lashing out at people, then she could end up alone and isolated. If she refused to take care of herself then she was going to get sick.

It also meant that, in addition to taking care of a child for the first time, Moira had been forced to try and teach her how to get back to normal. It wasn't the easiest thing. Rahne had lashed out at her more than once, unable to adequately express herself. She'd cried and flinched afterwards, apologizing, but Moira hadn't in her to be anything more than frustrated at her lack of ability.

She had to teach Rahne that she couldn't do that, that she needed to use her words. All of this training couldn't be done in a normal neighborhood. There were too many people. So Moira had moved to Muir Island. She didn't know how long she would have to stay in Scotland, but she could stay on the semi-isolated island until the papers for Rahne went through. She'd figure something out before it ended.

Right now, as exhausting as it was, she just needed to help Rahne adjust.

"Rahne, two feet, right?" Moira asked, getting some milk from the fridge.

Rahne chewed on her lip and got to her feet. Her stance was wobbly, and she looked to Moira for approval. Moira smiled.

"There we go," she said, "Have a seat."

Rahne clambered into the chair. She looked apprehensively at the silverware as Moira sat down, and Moira pretended not to notice. Rahne quickly folded her hands together before unfolding them. It was an odd habit of Rahne's, one that she did before every meal. Moira wasn't sure what it meant.

"So, I was thinking about taking you to the shore tomorrow," Moira said.

"Seen it," Rahne asked, picking up her spoon and poking at her soup.

"Not really," said Moira, "I was thinking I could show you where I used to hunt for shells when I was your age. I used to make necklaces."

Rahne cocked her head before shakily brining a spoonful of soup to her lips. When she drank it without spilling a drop Moira smiled.

"You're getting better at that," she said.

Rahne looked down.

"I'm sorry I'm not better," she said.

Moira sighed. She reached out slowly. Rahne watched the progress of her hand and Moira gently set it on top of her hand. She wished Rahne could see herself for what she was, a creature of light and strength. Perhaps it was time someone told her that.

"You are the best person I know," Moira said.

_"You are the best person I know."_

_Charles looked at her. His hands were entwined with hers. He reached out tentatively to caress her cheek, as though it were fragile, as though she herself were made of mist. _

_"You need to know better people," he said._

"Are you okay?"

Moira blinked. Rahne was looking at her with concern.

"I'm fine," Moira said, withdrawing her hand, "I just have a headache."

Rahne didn't look convinced. Moira hurried to change the subject.

"I used to love making sandcastles too," she said, "I think that you'll like that too."

"Dunno what that is," murmured Rahne.

She hadn't thought so. Not with the kind of upbringing that Moira suspected she'd had.

"I can show you," Moira offered.

Rhane made a non-committal shrug. Moira sighed and stared at her food. Connecting with Rahne had been more difficult than she'd thought it would be. She'd tried talking to her about everything she could think of, but she usually only got blank stares or quick acquiescence.

"Do you want me to read a story after dinner?" Moira asked.

"I can read," said Rahne.

She blinked. From Rahne's habits she hadn't expected that. It made her feel like a fool.

"Really? How much?" she asked.

"Picture books," Rahne said.

"I could read you one with mostly words," said Moira, "There's a bookcase in the living room if you want to pick one out."

Rahne continued eating her soup, looking thoughtful. She took a big gulp of milk before she walked into the living room. Moira got up and followed her. Neither were going fast: she had broken ribs and Rahne had a sprained ankle.

The girl stared at the bookcase for a while, her gaze hard. Then her face lit up and she pried a book from the others. She looked over at Moira hopefully.

"This one," she said.

Moira took the book from Rahne's hands and stared at it. Rahne had handed her _The Bible_. She stared at the leather covering and gold lettering before looking at the girl in front of her. Something inside of her was working feverishly, pulling together everything she knew about Rahne.

An image of the folding hands came to her mind. Was that Rahne's way of praying? She had called Moira Jochebed when she had first met her. Was that a Biblical figure? Moira was guiltily aware of her own religious in adequacy, her casual attitude towards her own religion. This was what she got for it.

"Could you read about Moses?" Rahne asked, "The picture books said he did lots of things, but there must be more in a book with more words, right?"

Moira smiled.

"Right," she said.

She sat down on the couch, motioning for Rahne to sit next to her. Rahne clambered up on the couch and curled up next to Moira. Moira turned and looked at her. Rahne looked back up, her eyes wide and excited. She smiled uncertainly, licking her lips.

It was then that Moira realized that it was worth it. Any frustrations she would feel, any pain from the scars on her hands, it was worth it to see the little girl next to her be excited about something. It was worth it to see Rahne smile.

So Moira smiled back and opened to the book of Exodus.

"Now a man of the tribe of Levi married a Levite woman, and she became pregnant and gave birth to a son," Moira read, "When she saw that he was a fine child, she hid him for three months. But when she could hide him no longer, she got a papyrus basket for him and coated it with tar and pitch. Then she placed the child in it and put it among the reeds along the bank of the Nile."

* * *

><p>Charles took another drink and emptied the bottle. He let it slide from his hands as he walked to the other side of the room. Walking, listening to the blessed silence that came without having to hear anyone else's hopes and dreams. Once, he had thought that that would make everything better.<p>

Perhaps Hank had still thought that it would help. He was the only spot of real guilt in Charles's life right now, but Charles couldn't quite find it in him to resent him for that. Not yet. Charles was sure that he would find a way in the next few years, drive away the last person in his life who cared about him.

He looked out the window, pulling back the heavy curtain and squinting at the lawn below. At one point it had been filled with students looking curiously at the school on their first day. It had seemed so clear what he'd had to do when everything had begun, when the idea had hit him like a bolt of lightning.

_"It could be good Moira," Charles said, gesturing to the plans, "It really could."_

_Moira sat in front of him, her eyes filled with light and smiling._

_"We could get some teachers maybe, some good people," Charles said, "Better than me anyway."_

_"You are the best person I know."_

_Charles looked at her. His hands were entwined with hers. He reached out tentatively to caress her cheek, as though it were fragile, as though she herself were made of mist. _

_"You need to know better people," he said._

_"No," Moira said, "I don't."_

_He felt something inside him swell, and he wondered if this was what love was like. Not attraction, love. It seemed ironic for love to come on the heels of losing everything, but maybe life had been saving this for him, for whatever came next in his life. _

_Even though he didn't quite have it in him to tell her, he would soon. _

Charles let the curtain fall on the window, blocking out the light. Fine idea that had been.


	4. Chapter 4

October 25, 1968

Sometimes Rahne was convinced she was dreaming. Any moment now she was going to wake up and the house would be gone, along with Moira, her new clothes, and the book with the beautiful Bible with the rest of all the stories she'd never gotten to read. When she woke up she would find nothing but a pile of leaves and the chill of the morning. If she was very unlucky, she'd be back in the orphanage.

But every morning, Rahne woke up in a warm bed. There would be light coming into the room, a room filled with things that she could touch and use. New clothes were appearing all the time, clothes that Rahne wasn't sure how to get into or what all of them were. She had stared at the socks for ten minutes before Moira had come up to check on her.

And Moira. There was always Moira. Deborah had just been something to call her when she didn't know her name, although Rahne sometimes wondered why Moira wasn't named Deborah It wasn't the name that Rahne used for her in her head, but that was a name that Rahne seldom dared think, let alone speak. It would ruin things.

She was a mystery. Rahne sometimes felt that, even though the rest of her new life was real, Moira definitely wasn't. She seemed to want to talk to her, to ask her what she was feeling. Rahne didn't answer often, mostly because the question was so strange. What was she thinking? What was she feeling?

The answer to the second one was easier than the first. So much of Rahne's life had been action instead of thought. Thought took a long time, and often she only had seconds. Rahne estimated that she'd only had a few seconds between finding out that the men were going to kill her to hearing their steps on the stairs. The open window had never seemed so inviting, and her ability never so useful. There hadn't even been any time to get her book.

The next year or so had been a blur of sleeping outside, of scrounging in the trash. The number of times she'd been sick had scared her. What if she got so sick she died? No one would care, no one except Him. Sometimes she wondered if it would be better to let that happen, because if she fell asleep and she didn't wake up, the struggle would be over.

But she kept waking up, and so she kept going. When the snows came she had been able to find a place beneath a bridge to curl up. As both a wolf and a girl she had managed to steal food and dash off, although she had never been able to pick what it was.

Now, every night, Moira gave her a plate of something warm. She often asked Rahne what she liked to eat. It was another question that Rahne had no idea how to answer. People liked to eat things? Was food normally good? Rahne had had good food before, but it had never been something that she had been able to request.

She looked out the window from her seat at the table. The leaves on the trees had begun to change color. Moira said that it was October outside. Rahne believed her. She'd started to ask her questions about Halloween, something else that Rahne didn't know about.

Oftentimes Moira's questions made her feel stupid. She knew that Moira wasn't trying to make her feel that way, but still. Rahne didn't know about anything that she'd mentioned, things that sounded like she should know.

There was a fear, not a big one, but certainly one that edged its way into her mind, that Moira would get tired of her. She already didn't know how to walk, and speech was so hard sometimes. Every time she bit at an itch or licked herself clean she could see the concern on Moira's face.

She had no doubt that Moira was a gift. Perhaps He had taken pity on her, but Moira was already hurt. Rahne knew it went beyond the pain in her arm and stomach where the wicked men had shot her. There was another pain too, one she was trying to ignore. Why should she have to deal with Rahne when there was so much else?

Moira didn't get tired of her though. Every day she smiled at Rahne, every day her voice was patient more than it was tired. Every night she would let Rahne curl up to her when she read to her from the book, a different version of her own book, but with no pictures.

There were even nights, when the storms were loud and Rahne could all but feel the cold bite of the wind and rain on her skin, that she let Rahne sleep in her room. Moira would let her snuggle next to her uninjured side, let her sleep there for as long as she wanted.

Rahne had to be careful though. This was a precious privilege, and she couldn't wear it out. So she didn't go for every nightmare, or for every storm. It was only the ones that frightened her most. It was better, saving this luxury.

Something fell onto the table. Rahne looked at the large orange object with surprise. Moira was standing on the other side of the table, sweating and beaming at her.

"People don't do Jack-o-Lanterns so much in Scotland," Moira said, "But I thought it might be fun if you and I made one."

Rahne bit her lip.

"Dunno how," she mumbled.

"That's good, because I figured I would teach you," she said, "It's easy, and it's fun."

She turned away and pulled out a black marker.

"We used to do this all the time at my house when I was a little girl," Moira said.

She handed the marker to Rahne.

"Draw a face on it," she said.

Rahne stared at the object.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because it's going to be really pretty when we're done," Moira said, "We're going to carve a face on it."

Rahne looked down at the marker.

"But...why?" she asked.

Moira knelt beside her, wincing as she did so. Her ribs must still be hurting. Rahne's foot had healed: she just wished that Moira

"Don't you think he deserves a smile?" she asked.

Rahne pursed her lips and looked at the object. She swallowed and then drew a loopy smiley face on it. She quickly drew two circles for eyes and, after a moment, she drew another circle for its nose. It barely looked like a face, but it did look more cheerful.

"Alright," Moira said, "That's a nice face. Do you think you can make the smile a little wider?"

Biting her lip, Rahne used the marker to give him a wider smile. He looked friendly now.

"That's great," Moira said, "When we put the light inside it it's going to shine through really well."

"We're putting light in it?" Rahne asked.

"Yes," said Moira, "I'll show you how later."

She got to her feet again and hesitated.

"I need to carve the top of the pumpkin," she said, "So I'm going to need a knife, alright?"

"What's a pumpkin?" she asked.

"This," replied Moira, patting the orange object.

"And what's that?" Rahne asked.

"It's like a vegetable. Or a fruit," said Moira, "It has seeds. We're going to be baking them up later. I always loved it when my mother would bake them up. Better than popcorn."

At least Rahne knew what popcorn was. Moira had made some up for her earlier that week.

"Okay," Moira said, "I'm going to get the knife now, alright?"

Rahne blinked at her, barely understanding. Moira nodded and then withdrew a sharp knife slowly from one of the cupboards. Rahne immediately jumped away from Moira, drawing her feet up to her chest. The whimper left her mouth unbidden and Moira dropped the knife.

She held her hands out flat and again knelt in front of Rahne. Rahne didn't flinch as Moira took her hands.

"Rahne, I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't...I..."

The pain on Moira's face made Rahne feel like a fool all over again. She had tried to warn her. Rahne just hadn't understood.

"It's called a knife?" Rahne asked.

Moira squeezed her hands.

"Those men had them, didn't they?" she asked.

Rahne nodded her head. Moira sighed.

"Rahne, I will never hurt you," she said.

"I know," Rahne said.

Moira smiled, but she could still see some of the pain and fear in her eyes.

"It's more than that," said Moira, "I know that you've been hurt in the past. It kills me that I can't erase that, but I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."

"But they can hurt you," blurted Rahne.

There was a pause. Moira shook her head slowly, her face strange as though she were figuring something out.

"No," she said, "They can't."

"But they-"

"This?" Moira asked.

She looked down at where Rahne knew that her ribs were bandaged and splinted.

"Rahne, this is nothing," she said, "If I..."

She swallowed.

"If something ever happened to you, and I couldn't stop it," Moira said, "And I lived, then the pain I felt would be a thousand times worse than this."

Rahne blinked, biting her lip, her tongue, anything to ground her to reality.

"You are the most important thing in my life," said Moira, "I want you to know that."

She hesitated, and then leaned forward and kissed Rahne's forehead. Rahne's eyes widened even as they welled with tears. She had kissed her. No one had ever done that before, just like no one had ever given her a home.

Moira moved away and cupped Rahne's face with her hand.

"We don't have to carve it if you don't want to you know," she said.

Rahne bit her lip, settling down to a slow, methodical motion. The lines on the pumpkin were squiggly, but he was smiling. She wanted him to really smile. Maybe it was just a vegetable, or a fruit, but she wanted to fill it with light.

Just like she felt now.

"No, let's," she said.

Moira got up, her movements slow and measured. She withdrew the knife and, although Rahne could feel fear rising inside her, she made herself watch while Moira carved the pumpkin out and scooped out the seeds inside. She put them into a bowl before washing her hands.

"Those are for later," Moira said.

Rahne nodded. Moira was just going on as though everything was normal, as though she hadn't just told Rahne the most amazing thing she had ever heard. It was a little scary, how comfortable this strange woman was with loving her. It made Rahne love her all the more.

As she watched, Moira lit a small candle and placed it inside the empty pumpkin. Rahne saw a vague flickering of light from inside the pumpkin as Moira put the top back on. She walked to the other side of the kitchen and turned off the light.

The jack-o-lantern glowed brightly, light shining throughout the smile. Rahne watched, transfixed by both the warmth and the light. If she wanted, she could reach out and touch it. It was right in front of her, no one barring her way.

Moira's arms gently wrapped around her. Rahne leaned into them, still staring at the jack-o-lantern. No, she didn't have to take the light and warmth. No one would stop her if she did, but she didn't have to take things. It was being offered to her in the form of the woman behind her, a true gift from Him.

And, her thoughts quiet, bathed in the light of the jack-o-lantern, with Moira's arms around her, Rahne let the silent tears stream down her cheeks. She let herself relax into someone else's care, and dared think the thought that she only brushed against in the night, the name she yearned to call Moira by.

_Mom._


	5. Chapter 5

December 25, 1968

Hank looked up at the clock, watched as the moments ticked down to Christmas. He wondered if Alex was alright now, celebrating Christmas out in the jungle, fighting for a country and a cause that Hank himself wasn't sure of.

He looked up at the ceiling. The Professor was probably asleep now, and Hank hoped that he was asleep because he was tired and not because he'd managed to drink himself into a stupor. Hank was worried about his health.

Some part of him sneered at him. Since when had he become some sort of glorified babysitter? He'd been to Harvard, been employed by the CIA's science division, no mean feat. His parents had imagined great things for him, probably a career in politics or something similar. Now he was living in an empty mansion, spending most of his days alone or taking care of a man who was too far gone to realize someone cared about him.

Hank had hoped that the serum would give him something to get up for in the mornings, something to look forward to. Hank hadn't imagined that it would encourage him to continue to drink and read, to spend time alone and stop shaving.

When he'd created the serum he used to control his mutation, it had had a better effect. Hank was able to spend most of his days looking exactly like he had before his disastrous experiment with Raven's cells.

He winced when he thought of Raven's name. There was only one name that hurt him more, that made him sadder. Sean wasn't around anymore though, wasn't going to come in and accidentally break something when he was trying to help. As such it came up less often.

Hank shook it off and stared at the desk. If it weren't the Professor then he would have left a long time ago. He might have been able to find a good job somewhere, keep working with his life. Sure, there was pain, and there was the knowledge that he had once been more, but it was gone now. Why hunt for something that was gone? Why not just forge a new path?

However, he wasn't going to leave the Professor to fight his demons by himself. The Professor had taken him in, giving him a purpose in life. The purpose was gone, but the belief, the gesture, was still there. Hank had never come across anyone who believed in him like that. No matter what they went through for the next few years, Hank would always owe him.

Staying with him wouldn't be enough though. Hank knew that he wasn't the person who the Professor needed, wasn't the person who could help him most. He knew, with a sinking, terrible clarity, that nothing he did would be able to get the Professor to try again.

The least he could do was make sure that the Professor didn't drink himself to death or kill himself. No, as long as there was something to fight for, as long as there was one student in Westchester, then he knew the Professor would continue to live.

So he had to stay, and that was that. Hank looked up at the clock, saw that December 24 had become December 25 over ten minutes ago. Hank could only pray that the new year would be better than the last.

* * *

><p>Charles wasn't asleep. He listened to the chiming of the bells and sighed, scratching the back of his neck with one of his hands. There was no light on in his room, but he knew where the brandy was. As long as it was close to his bed, he could reach it.<p>

However, an unpleasant, burning feeling was beginning in his legs. His hand shot out and he grabbed a syringe, jabbing it into his nerve. Blessed relief flowed into it, and the feeling returned to his legs. That was close. He should probably keep a few of these in his pocket.

He took a swig of brandy and glanced at the ceiling. Last Christmas had been a quiet one, with most of the teachers going home. It had been just him and Hank that year too, quiet and isolated. That had been a different kind of isolation though, one he had known would soon be over when the term resumed.

Now, now he was just going to spend the day drinking like he did every day, maybe read and, possibly, just possibly, leave his room for something. Maybe he should slink out and talk to Hank some. Hank liked being left to his own devices, but Charles hadn't seen him in two days.

The bells continued to chime. Charles slid back in the arm chair. Perhaps it was time to be indulgent. He let himself remember then, just briefly.

_It was late, and the bells were chiming. Moira looked up from the book, her voice pausing._

_"It's that late already?" she asked._

_"I don't mind," Charles said from his bed, "Keep reading."_

_She laughed softly._

_"I think you already know how this story ends," she said._

_"I've read most of the books in my family's collection," he said, "It doesn't mean that I don't like them after I'm done with them."_

_She closed the book and looked out the window thoughtfully._

_"When was the last time you went outside?" she said._

_"Oh, um, well, I think it was a few days ago," Charles said._

_Moira put the book down and got up._

_"Then I think it's time we take you outside," she said._

_He complained, he always did, but Moira had a way of being persuasive. Before he knew it he was in his wheelchair, a chair he hated more than anything he'd ever hated, and she had wheeled him out to the balcony._

_The night air was cool and sweet. He inhaled deeply as Moira sat down next to him on one of the patio chairs. _

_"See?" she said, "Better, right?"_

_Charles looked over at her, at the way her face was framed by the light from his room. Barely knowing what he was doing, he reached out and grasped her hand. She blinked when he did it, but she didn't pull away. He looked back to the lawn, the bells still chiming._

_"Yes," he said, "Better."_

He blinked and he was still in the musty room, trapped by the smell of stale of alcohol and unwashed clothes.

"Merry Christmas," he murmured bitterly.

* * *

><p>"Merry Christmas Rahne!"<p>

Rahne looked up at Moira. She was holding out a brightly-wrapped package. She felt a little confused by a Christmas where there were presents under a tree with a bunch of glitter on them. Her happiest Christmases had been spent alone in the attic, being completely forgotten and reading about a baby who was born so that someone could love her. She missed that book.

Decorating the tree with Moira had been fun though, and she had loved being boosted up to put the star on top. Then there had been the popcorn string. It did strike her odd that she was supposed to thread popcorn on a needle, but she'd done it. Rahne had a feeling that she had eaten more popcorn than she had actually put on the string, but Moira hadn't seemed to mind. She'd just popped up some more.

Waking up early to unwrap packages in pajamas was strange, but Moira wanted to do it, so Rahne did. It felt comfortable. Moira had also made up hot chocolate for them to drink while they opened their presents. She said that there was going to be a light breakfast later, so that they could save their appetite for a big dinner. Rahne had seen Moira order a goose at the store, and she wondered what that tasted like.

Christmas had been amazing so far. Rahne couldn't believe that there were more presents though. Moira had already given her new clothes, including a purple dress. Rahne loved purple, and the dress was so pretty. There were also new shoes and a pretty charm bracelet.

This gift didn't look like it was more clothes, and she was a little disappointed. Still, whatever Moira was giving her must be good. She took the package from Moira and began tearing at the paper. There was a box underneath the package, and she opened it. Rahne saw what was inside and blinked, her breath catching in her throat.

A beautiful Bible was there, done up with pretty pictures. Rahne flipped through it, the wonderful colors reaching her eyes and the sentences perfect to read. She looked up at Moira, who was smiling at her.

"I thought you should have one of your own," she said, "Do you like it?"

Rahne looked at the book, then she looked up at Moira. She threw the book away and launched herself into Moira's arms. She fell back a bit, but Rahne didn't mind.

"I love it," she said.

As she snuggled closer into Moira's arms, she thought the secret name again. Every time she thought the word "mother," she felt more comfortable with it.

"I love you," she said.

* * *

><p>Moira felt Rahne knock the wind out of her. She'd expected something of the sort from Rahne, she could be very physically affectionate sometimes. However, the sheer force of the impact knocked her back onto the couch.<p>

"I love it," Rahne said.

Satisfaction stole over her. She'd known that Rahne would love a Bible of her own. Wherever she had been before, whatever had happened to her, she had obviously gleaned some sort of comfort from a Bible. It strengthened Moira's own faith to know that, somewhere out there, God had given Rahne a little comfort and a little strength in what must have been a terrible nightmare.

It was the perfect gift to end a year that, while it hadn't quite been perfect, had changed her life. She had finally found a cause in life, something to fight for. Moira could feel the urge to get up in the morning thrumming pleasantly through her bones once more.

The memories were still coming, but the headaches had, for the most part, stopped. It was a blessed relief for her budget to stop having to buy so much aspirin. She hadn't had a nosebleed in months. She couldn't imagine that life could get any better.

"I love you," Rhane said.

Moira froze. The pure strength of the words made her heart swell. Wistful feelings tugged on the edges of her memories, telling her that someone had said that to her before, but not because she was their guardian.

She got rid of the voice though, blocked out the tugging no matter how much it hurt. There was nothing else for it. How could she accept that pain when something wonderful was being offered to her? She had to take it while it was still there.

"I love you too," said Moira.

Now it was Rahne's turn to stiffen. Moira kissed the top of her head. Too few people had said that to Rahne, and her life truly must have been harsh. There might not have even been any truly merry Christmases in her memory. Moira wouldn't let it be harsh anymore.

Rahne moved away a bit, her eyes shining. She jumped up so that she was crouched next to Moira, huddled into her side. Moira wondered if she should say something, perhaps to sit on the couch like everyone else did, but there would be no lessons today. It was Christmas after all.

"I didn't get you anything."

Blinking in surprise Moira looked down at Rahne.

"You gave me so many beautiful things," Rahne said, "But I didn't get you anything. I'm sorry."

Moira simply sighed. She prayed that, one day, Rahne would truly understand.

"You did give me something though," she said.

Rahne frowned and shook her head.

"No, I didn't," she said.

"You did," Moira said, "You gave me your love, and your trust."

Moira held her closer.

"No one's ever given me that before," she said.

It might not have been a complete truth: her memories were still varied. However, he hadn't loved her enough to keep her with him. It was enough to know that he hadn't trusted her, not really. That meant he couldn't have really loved her either.

"It's the greatest gift anyone could ever get," said Moira, "The greatest gift I've ever received."

That, at least, she knew was true. As Rahne threw herself into Moira's arms again, she thought of the little world that she had created for her daughter. It was a small one, just a warm house filled with love.

In time though, it wouldn't be enough. Rahne would get older, and she wouldn't be able to depend on Moira for everything when she got older. It was morbid, but Moira wouldn't always be there. She had to show her that she could trust other people though.

She stroked Rahne's hair and thought of the vague, half conversations that she could still remember with Charles. They had spoken of making a place for mutants, a place where they could learn and grow in peace.

Moira had no idea where Charles was or what he was doing. She wasn't sure if she wanted to. But, Rahne deserved a place. She could use what few contacts she had left, ask to see if he had created a school, some place where Rahne could truly be free.


	6. Chapter 6

March 12, 1969

Moira looked over the top of her book, watching as Rahne ran along the shoreline. The child might have been ambivalent about the sea when she first heard about it, but it was part of their weekly ritual. Rahne already had shoeboxes filled with shells. She'd have to find something to do with all of them soon.

Moira put her book down as Rahne crouched down on the beach, letting the cold, shallow water wash around her ankles. She just looked at the water with such a sense of wonder, burying her hands in the wet sand.

Moira felt a familiar warmth start in her chest. The past year with Rahne had been difficult, but it was yielding rewards that Moira could never foresee. For the first time in a long time, she was making a difference to someone. Her life was once again an adventure, although it was a quieter, sweeter one than she had thought it could ever be.

There were still challenges that lay ahead. There wasn't a limitless supply of money. Moira had been working from home on some translating work now and then. There were so few people in the private sector with knowledge of languages outside of the European sphere.

Then there was education. There was no way that Rahne would be able to attend school with other children: not yet. It took everything in her to come with Moira on some of her shopping trips. Homeschooling wasn't fun.

Rahne wasn't showing a natural love of learning either, not in the traditional sense. The only book she was interested in reading was her Bible. Lessons about science had to be taken outdoors. Rahne wanted to see the processes that books talked about, not read about them or write out equations.

This was a problem. Moira had always loved equations, putting two and two together to come out with four. As she had gotten older she knew that that wasn't always the case, but knowing how to solve things like that had made her feel powerful, as though she really knew how the world worked.

She wished that she could do more for Rahne. Her mind flickered to looking into specialists, but she wasn't sure if there were any that dealt with mutant children who were half-feral and only trusted one person.

_"How many students are you going to take?"_

_"As many as I can, and then more."_

Moira shook her head. She wished that she could remember more about that memory, since it seemed so important. Had Charles been planning on creating a school? If he had, then perhaps there would be a place for Rahne when she was older.

However, there was no guarantee. It was why she was quietly changing the way Muir Island operated. The butterfly researcher's lease had expired, and Moira had begun leasing the research facilities to genetics researchers and doctors. She was quietly vetting them, figuring out who she could turn to in order to find more information.

A part of her thought wistfully about Charles: he had known quite a bit about genetics. Not that she could remember anything about where he was. More memories had surfaced in the past few months, and with each memory Moira became increasingly uncomfortable. So many of the memories were intimate, hands held and words whispered in the dark. They were returning gradually and piece-meal, not like the ones she had inherited of Cuba that came whole.

Increasingly she realized that, whatever else had happened, whatever he had felt, Moira had been in love with Charles. It was easy, if she strung enough memories together, to see just why she had felt that way. Charles was everything she had ever wanted in a man, smart, caring, strong, brave, someone who had seen her for who she was.

That wasn't what made her feel uncomfortable though. It made her feel sad and angry. She had loved him, trusted him, and for whatever reason he had cast her aside. She had loved someone who hadn't loved her back, and that was always a reason to feel sad. Admittedly he might have had his reasons, but they would have to be very good ones before she would agree that he'd done the right thing.

No, she felt uncomfortable because, as the memories returned, so did the feelings. Moira wanted to cut off the unformed feelings that curled inside her. However, it was like she was reliving a love affair now, every step of the way on display. She could see when she had started to have those feelings, why they had become more, why he had been special.

Unless she knew for sure that he had cast her aside, those feelings were once again taking root. Not that she would ever know. Moira rubbed her temples. Why couldn't she remember this one, simple thing?

A few feet away from her Rahne got up, still letting the ocean wash around her ankles. She looked over at Moira and tentatively held out a hand. Moira knew what that gesture meant. Although Rahne was getting increasingly comfortable with speaking, she still relied on a lot of gestures. She wanted her to come with her.

Moira sighed: the water was cold, but she got up. She waded in so that she was standing next to Rahne. The girl looked up at her, her wide eyes filled with joy as she pointed to something. Moira crouched down, the cold water making her shiver.

A starfish was in the water, its ends curling as it sat comfortably in the sand. Rahne looked up at her happily.

"It's beautiful," she said.

Moira smiled and ruffled Rahne's hair.

"It is," Moira said.

Rahne looked back at the starfish, her crouch deepening and her hands skimming the water's surface.

"I can't take it home, can I?' she asked.

"What?" Moira asked.

Rahne skimmed the surface of the water again, her fingers flecking drops forwards.

"I can't keep it," she said.

Moira cocked her head thoughtfully.

"I think, if we got a container and filled it with saltwater-" Moira said.

"No," said Rahne.

One of Rahne's free hands began making swirls in the sand.

"It's happy here," she said, "Don't want to take it from home."

Rahne closed her eyes for a moment.

"Like I don't want anyone take me from my home," she said, "It's pretty here, and I look, but can't take just coz it's pretty."

Moira leaned over and kissed Rahne on the top of her head. Even after everything that Rahne had been through, there was something so incredibly innocent and beautiful about the child next to her. She might have seen more than any child ever should might have, and had been through terrible abuse, but she shined.

"You're right," Moira said, "And that's a good thing."

Rahne sat down in the water, leaning against Moira. Moira barely batted an eye. The saltwater would be difficult to wash out of Rahne's clothes, but she would figure something out. It was enough for her to know that Rahne was happy.

In the past few months, she had felt something growing inside her. It had been a strange process, a prickling feeling that had started every time Rahne had smiled at her, had displayed her unfailing trust and boundless curiosity.

It had also been nudging Moira towards a decision. The adoption paperwork was almost done with. Soon she wouldn't just be Rahne's watcher, she would be her guardian. It had taken longer than she'd thought, but when it was done she could go back to America if she wanted.

Not that she would. America didn't have any convenient, isolated place like their current situation. Rahne still needed time away from others. She was still so frightened, still struggling to master aspects of the world.

However, it had made some things come into focus. She felt pride thinking about the certificate that was about to be placed in her hands, the one that would proclaim that Rahne was truly hers, that no one else was going to take her away.

It had made her happy to know that the state would recognize that she would be a good guardian. It almost made her as happy as it had when Rahne had decided she would be a good guardian, a good person to tie herself to.

It was why she had to try so hard to make things work, to find the school that Charles had started. She'd reached out to Levine about it, but their last conversation hadn't been very promising. Just asking him to look into her request had been hard enough.

When she'd mentioned her doubts about the Scottish school system, Levine had gotten excited, but for a different reason. She could still hear his voice over the phone.

"Are you considering coming back to the States?" he'd asked, "I'd love it if you could. I know the move would be a little expensive, but I could help with all of that. I also have some contacts if you need a job."

"No," Moira said, "Well, maybe."

She could almost hear him raise his eyebrows.

"Rahne has a lot of needs," Moira said, "She's doing well around me, but I can't be around her every second of her life. And then there's her mutation."

"What about it?" Levine asked.

"She can't use it out here," said Moira, "She'll change when she sleeps sometimes, or when she's alone with me. But she doesn't trust other people with her mutation."

"Sensible girl," said Levine.

She'd sighed angrily.

"I'm just stating the obvious," Levine said, his words rushed, "It's dangerous out there for people who are different. And she's not just normal different. She's different different. You know that."

"I do," Moira said, "But...I don't know. It just reminds me of those kids I recruited with Charles and Erik. They were scared and nervous about who they were, but they seemed so happy when they found other people to share their gifts with."

There was a pause.

"Okay, that's great," he said, "But I'm not sure what you're..."

There were another few seconds of silence. Moira had done a mental countdown to when he would understand.

"Oh, son of a bitch," Levine said, "Moira, after everything Xavier did, are you really going to trust him with your daughter?"

Her feelings were still mixed on the subject, but she had to do the right thing for Rahne.

"I don't have much of a choice Levine," said Moira, "She's a mutant, and I don't think that there are many schools where she can get a good education and meet other children like her. She needs to learn to live her life with her gifts, and I can't do that by myself. You need...you need other people, people who understand because they've lived it, and there aren't that many people like that."

Levine's voice became sullen.

"I don't trust Xavier," he said, "And, remember, you're doing this on the idea that he actually formed a school. A good school."

"I have to take that chance," said Moira, "And I need someone who, if they find them, won't report them to McCone."

He turned away from her, his face now more glum than sullen. His eyes fixed on Rahne, and he sighed.

"I can't make any promises Moira," he'd said, "But I can try."

"That's all I'm asking," Moira had said.

She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Just thinking about it was frustrating.

"Moira?"

Moira opened her eyes and grinned weakly

"I'm fine Rahne," she said.

Rahne frowned and her eyes flicked over her, but didn't say anything. She was concerned. Moira had to take care of that.

"Rahne," she said.

Rahne perked up, curious. Moira reached out and brushed some of Rahne's hair behind her ear. Perhaps it was time.

"I think that, all things considered," she said, letting her hand rest on Rahne's cheek, "You can call me mom."

She blinked for a moment, and then the light from her smile outshone the sun.


	7. Chapter 7

May 17, 1970

Rahne finished digging a hole in the garden, her hands streaked with mud. Her mother, a phrase she always turned around lovingly in her mind, was inside the house, finishing some forms for something. Lots of people were coming into the center Rahne didn't go near on the Island, and she had a lot of work to do. She'd told Rahne to get started on the garden.

The earth was nice and squidgy between her fingers. Rahne was wearing some of her older clothes, but her mother said that these clothes were old and could be used as work clothes. It meant that Rahne didn't have to care if she ruined them. It was a good feeling.

They, like her hands, were already streaked with mud. Rahne was having fun putting the seeds into the earth, but she liked digging too. Her mother insisted that she use a shovel, but she wasn't sure why she needed to. Her hands had always been enough. She supposed it was like why she had to use a fork.

Rahne leaned her head over and put a flower into the ground. Her mother had let her pick out the flowers that they were going to plant, and as a result, they were all purple. Purple was prettiest. Rahne gently touched the petals of the flower before she put it into the ground.

She started to push the mud into the hole when she heard a noise. Rahne felt her hackles rise, but she bit her lip. Her mother would be upset if she started howling or something similar. She was always telling her to use her words.

So she looked around, her hands still covered in mud. A moment later she saw a boy wander down the path next to her house. She crouched down more, hoping that he wouldn't notice her. However, his eyes looked up, and he saw her.

He smiled, and Rahne edged away. There might have been a fence in between her and the boy, but she didn't want to take any chances. He was too close, and she didn't trust people that smiled that much, not even if they were her age. There had been too many hidden daggers in people's smiles over the years.

"Hi!" he said.

She didn't say anything in reply. He had a funny accent, and it kind of reminded her of her mother's. She waited for him to lose interest, but he kept looking at her. It didn't look like he was going to go away though, just kept staring at her like he wanted her to say something. Was it too early to call for her mother?

"I just moved here," he said, not understanding that she wasn't going to answer, "Well, my parents did. They're doing research. I didn't think there were any other kids here."

There was another pause. She thought of her mother inside the house, filling out the forms. She'd told her that there were new researchers on the island, ones that were interested in genetics. Some of them had already left, but some of the original ones had stayed. She wasn't sure why, but his parents had apparently brought him.

The boy shuffled his feet, but he didn't look discouraged.

"I'm taking a walk around," he said, "My parents told me that I could look around, just as long as I don't go to the beach or near the water."

Rahne pressed her lips into a firm line. She wasn't going to say anything.

"My name's Doug," he said.

Rahne stared at him suspiciously. Why did it matter what his name was? She didn't want to know his name, hadn't asked for it. A tight knot was beginning in her throat, a knot that she recognized as panic. Why couldn't he just go and leave her alone?

So she looked away. Maybe he would get that she didn't want to talk.

"Please don't act like I'm not here."

Doug's voice wavered as he spoke. She looked up at the sound, and he shuffled his feet a bit more. As she continued to look at him, she could see that he was nervous. Why was he nervous? Or was that fear? Was he afraid of her? Why would he be afraid of her? He was the one who had come out of nowhere.

"Please?" he asked.

Rahne suddenly felt bad for not answering, and her fingers dug into the ground. She wanted to call her mother, but that didn't really seem necessary. Could she answer him though? Her tongue felt stuck to the roof of her mouth.

"You can't not like me," he said, his voice still wavering, "You just met me."

Actually, people could do that. Plenty of people had hated Rahne as soon as they'd met her. However, she didn't hate Doug. She wasn't like them. She let her fingers dig into the cold earth a little more and, although her tongue feeling thick and ugly, spoke.

"I don't not like you," she said, "I just don't know what to say."

Doug brightened immediately.

"That's okay," he said, "I can just ask you questions, and if you want, you can answer."

Rhane's hands were almost buried in the mud now. She could barely feel them. The knot was returning, but he wasn't trying to hurt her. He just wanted to talk. There was a fence in between them. Her mother was just a shout away. He couldn't hurt her. He was just a kid, like her.

Her mother was always telling her she should use her words. She should try. If nothing else, she could make her proud.

_Father_, Rahne thought, _Please let me do this._

"Okay," she said.

Doug's smile widened.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Rahne," she said.

Doug nodded happily. He was a happy kid.

"I've never met a Rahne before," he said, "And I've met lots of people with different first names, Xuan, Hans, Pierre, but I've never met a Rahne."

She frowned.

"Funny names," she said.

"They're from other countries," Doug explained, "My parents do a lot of research. They have this thesis on the way the genome works, right? So they're working with some doctors here for a while. I've never been to Scotland before. Is Rahne a Scottish name?"

Rahne was glad that he talked so much, even if the panic in her was welling up. It meant that she didn't have to talk so much, that she could concentrate on pushing down her fear. She was starting to dig her toes into the ground to get some traction now too.

"I don't know," she said.

"I like it," Doug announced, "I don't hear a ton of girl's names that begin with 'R.' I know that they're out there, I just haven't met many people who have names like that. Are your parents researchers too?"

"No," said Rahne.

There was silence, and it took Rahne a moment before she realized that Doug wanted her to elaborate.

"My mom owns the island," she said.

"Oh, cool," Doug said, "Were you born here?"

"No," said Rahne.

He waited again. Rahne wished that he would just stop. She preferred it when he talked too much.

"Where were you born?" he prompted.

"Dunno," said Rahne.

"You don't know?" Doug said, "Everybody knows where they were born."

The knot was forcing its way from her chest to her throat. No, no.

"Edinburgh, I think," she said.

"You don't have much of an accent," said Doug.

Rahne shrugged. The fear was still clawing its way up, and she started to excavate her hands from the dirt. She needed to get inside, where her mother was, where it was safe. Her mother would hold her and then the knot would disappear.

"Everyone else around here has a really thick accent," Doug said, "Is your dad not from here? Is that why you don't know where you were born?"

The panic was burning in her eyes now. She needed to get away.

"Don't have a dad," she managed.

She shouldn't have dug into the ground so much. She had practically rooted herself there, and now she was stuck there. So stupid.

"Oh," Doug said, "I'm sorry. Is he dead?"

Why wouldn't he stop asking her questions about herself?

"I just don't have one," said Rahne.

She was almost free, but the panic had almost taken over. In a minute she was going to start clawing at the air and screaming for her mother, and Doug would think she was strange, and he would tell everyone. Worse, she might change, and then Doug would scream, and that would make things worse.

"Everybody has one."

Her hands were free, but she was still stuck, unable to move. In her head she was praying for a few more seconds, but she was getting worse and worse. How could she have thought she was ready for this? All she wanted to do was scream and run away, away from people talking to her, asking her questions, looking at her-

"Who's this?"

Rahne felt a wave of calm wash over her. She could have cried in relief as her mother walked out, looking curiously at Doug. Rahne wanted to answer, but her tongue still wasn't quite working after everything.

"I'm Doug," Doug said, "My parents are researchers. Are you Rahne's mother?"

"She introduced herself?" her mother asked.

She beamed down at Rahne, and Rahne felt the last of the panic dissipate, her tongue loosening.

"Wants to know if my name's Scottish," Rahne said.

Moira cocked her head thoughtfully.

"You know, I actually don't know the answer to that," said Moira, "I know my name is, but I'm not from Scotland. My father was, but I was born in America."

Doug smiled, looking as though everything suddenly made sense.

"Okay then," he said.

He looked up at Moira, smiling again. Rahne could see the eager look in his eyes.

"Can Rahne come out and play?" he asked.

Rahne had to fight back the urge to beg her mother to tell him no. Doug was nice, and he seemed like he wanted to be friends. That was an unusual thought, but it seemed true enough. That wasn't the problem though.

She couldn't be trusted to be out there, all alone with him, and she knew it. She had barely been able to talk to him in the back garden with a fence in between them. If that barrier were removed, she wasn't sure what she would be able to do.

What if she panicked and hurt herself, hurt him?

"Sorry Doug, but Rahne's got chores to do right now," her mother said.

Doug slumped and Rahne exhaled in relief.

"But hey, maybe we can arrange a play date over here sometime," her mother said, "Your parents are my tenants, I can let them know when a good time is here, and you can come over."

Rahne felt the panic welling again. What was a playdate?

"You can tell them that there'll be an adult supervising," Moira said.

Suddenly Rahne understood. It was like play, but with her mother watching. That would be fine. She smiled.

"That would be good," Rahne said.

Doug's unhappy slump straightened.

"Awesome!" he said, "My last name's Ramsay, so if you need to talk to them, or they need to talk to us or something, that's who to ask for."

Her mother nodded. She looked down at Rahne.

"Come on," she said, "I need to get you cleaned up for dinner."

Rahne got up and clasped her mother's hand, the mud squelching between their fingers.

"It was nice to meet you Doug," Moira said.

"Yeah," Rahne said, "It was nice."

Doug flashed one last smile before he hurried off. Her mother ushered her inside to the bathroom where she began washing the mud off her hands and clothes.

"You were very brave today, talking to him," her mother said, "I know that must have been difficult for you."

She leaned over and kissed the top of Rahne's head.

"I am so proud of you," she said.

The tight knot of fear slipped a little further away in her memory. Her mother was proud of her and maybe, maybe, she had a friend. It had been a good day.


	8. Chapter 8

November 25, 1970

Doug liked Rahne. She didn't talk much, but he knew she thought a lot. It was good. A lot of the other kids he knew didn't think a lot, and he figured that must be why he had such a hard time talking to them.

He didn't have a hard time talking to Rahne. Admittedly, it was a little strange just how much she let him talk. Most of the other kids told him to shut up. Not her. He knew that he'd found a good friend.

His parents liked her too. Sometimes they found time between their work with the other researchers to bring him to her house. They got on well with her mom, and he'd seen them drinking iced tea while they talked about their research together.

He'd gotten to know her mom really well, since Rahne never seemed to want to play in the woods. She always preferred to have a playdate in her house or in the garden. Doug was fine with that, especially since her mom was cool. His parents never seemed particularly interested in what he was doing.

There were a few things that made him sad. Rahne didn't like tag. It was his favorite game, and he'd been excited about playing it with her. But the first time he'd tried playing it with her in the garden she had tensed up and shied away from him. Her mother had come out and said that cookies were ready. It turned out the cookies still had to be in for another five minutes and she'd gotten the time wrong.

Doug wasn't stupid though. He knew that, for whatever reason, being chased made Rahne uncomfortable. He'd overheard his parents saying that she had been adopted, and that the place that she had been in before she'd been adopted hadn't been good.

He wondered if they'd been mean to her. Doug had read a lot of books, and he had everything from _Cinderella_ to _Oliver Twist_ to come up with ideas of what might have happened. She would have an exciting history. Someone like Rahne would be the subject of a novel, because she was pretty and nice. She had probably been the daughter of a princess who had died in childbirth. Then she had been taken in by her wicked stepmother who had been so mean that Rahne had run away and been taken in by her new mother.

It couldn't have been pleasant. She had a sort of crouchy-way of sitting and jumped onto things rather than climbing on them. She smiled shyly sometimes, but he didn't think that he'd ever heard her laugh. Maybe that had something to do with that.

So, the next time he'd visited he'd brought coloring books afterwards. He hadn't even mentioned tag, although the last time he'd told Rahne that he loved playing it. He'd hoped she'd forgotten, but he should have known better. Rahne wasn't stupid either.

Rahne had begun coloring in the pictures, giving him side glances every now and then.

"You're not gonna ask to play tag today, are you?" she asked.

He'd just shrugged.

"No," he said, "I don't feel like it. Do you want to?"

"No," Rahne said.

Her words were quick, and Doug knew he'd made a good choice.

"Than I don't want to," said Doug, "It's no big deal."

She had smiled at him, and Doug had felt happy. He'd made a good choice, he felt, being friends with her. The coloring books had run out one day though, and they'd played checkers and other games. Sometimes he showed her his homework, his parents had sent away for some courses through the mail for him, although she was always bored when he did that.

As a result, her mother began showing them how to bake simple treats. Pretzels were a favorite. Once you made the dough, you could make a whole bunch of fun shapes. Usually he ended up making knotty and strange-looking dough, but it all tasted the same: good.

His parents were impressed when he brought the pretzels home for them. They were probably just happy he was out with other kids. Doug knew that they were often concerned about his love of reading over talking to people. He thought they would love reading more than talking when everything they said sounded like one big rush too. At least Rahne didn't mind.

Today they were making a cake. It was pretty simple really, but Moira wasn't supervising. She drew her brows together and said she had to go upstairs to get something, but he was glad. He liked her well enough, but he liked it when he was just with Rahne.

She was a good friend. He could already see that his parents' research trip on the island was going to go by way too fast. There wouldn't be enough time to do all the cool things he wanted to do with Rahne.

For now though, settling on making cake was good.

"I think we should add more cocoa powder," Doug said.

Rahne frowned.

"It says we just need a cup," she said.

"Yeah," Doug said, "But cocoa powder is chocolate, right?"

"Right," Rahne said.

"So if we add more powder, it's gonna be more chocolatey."

Rahne's frown deepened. She looked back at the recipe, her expression uncertain.

"It says not to," she said.

"Come on Rahne," Doug said, bouncing from foot to foot, "It'll be fun. I promise."

She sighed and added a little more cocoa powder.

"Lots more," Doug said.

"No," Rahne said.

"Please?"

"No. Add flour now."

"You're no fun," Doug said, grabbing the flour bag and tugging on the top, "We might've made a vanilla cake, because it's not gonna taste enough like chocolate-"

The bag burst, the white powder spreading through the air in Rahne's direction. It scattered all over her, coating her in a fine white powder. She blinked in confusion, and then sneezed. Doug stared in horror.

"I didn't mean to do that," he said, "I swear I didn't. I really, really didn't. Pinky swear-"

"Calm down," said Rahne.

She put the jar of cocoa powder down and then looked at him.

"You want more cocoa powder, right?" she asked.

"Um, I did," said Doug, "Do you need to clean up? Should I call your mom or-"

Rahne reached into the cocoa powder tin so fast that Doug could barely see her. The next second a cup's worth of cocoa powder was headed for his face. He put up his hands, but it still splattered all over him.

He looked up and saw Rahne grinning at him.

"You got more cocoa powder," she said.

Doug narrowed his eyes. He reached into the mixing bowl and grabbed a handful of flour and cocoa before tossing it at her. She ducked and took the cocoa powder tin with her. Doug realized what she was doing just as she dumped it on his shoes.

"Hey!" he said.

He grabbed the bag of flour and poured it on her head. Rahne shrieked and, for a moment, Doug was worried that he had hurt her. Then he realized that she was laughing, and he smiled. He'd never heard her laugh. If she thought this was funny, then so be it.

He grabbed the bowl and prepared to toss its contents on her too.

* * *

><p>Moira laid down on her bed, her head pounding. She wished that she could just make it downstairs, to see what her daughter was doing with Doug, make sure they hadn't gotten into anything. Maybe, if she was lucky, they wouldn't be making a mess.<p>

She couldn't though. All she could do was lay with her head buried in her pillow, praying that whatever this was would pass soon. She knew it was a memory, one that was being dredged up from the depths of her mind. None of them had ever hurt this badly though.

_"I know you won't remember this."_

She rolled over and put her hand on her head. Whatever this was, it was going to be bad.

_Two blue eyes looked into hers. She was staring sightlessly ahead, her heart in her throat. Moira was crouching down so that her face was level with Charles's, her face so close to hers. She was sure that she could feel his hand on her face. _

_The memory was familiar, or at least the beginning of it was. They were on the lawn in front of the place, a place whose name she couldn't remember. There had been a kiss, and after that only darkness. Had this come after? She wasn't sure. _

_"I don't expect you to understand," Charles whispered, "And I don't ask for your forgiveness."_

_His hand traced her jaw. _

_"I wish that I could," he said, "There's so much that I want from you, so much that I know you would give if you stayed. And..."_

_He gritted his teeth. _

_"You'll hate me if you ever realize what I've done," Charles said, "But I won't put you in danger. The CIA is going to be looking for us soon, and they'll be expecting you to report. It's what you were going to do, wasn't it? Not to let them know where we are, but so that you could buy us time. When they find out you've lied...I won't let you take that risk."_

_Charles leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers. _

_"I would like to think that, whatever happens next, you'll be happy," he said, "That's what I want: for you to be happy. It sounds so tired and so weak but.."_

_Tears welled up in his eyes. _

_"You deserve more."_

Moira opened her eyes, breathing hard and taking in the silence. When the headache faded, she thought of the memory. Had that been his reasoning for sending away? Wanting for her to be safe, to be happy?

She pushed herself up. It was the most selfish selfless thing that Moira had ever heard. Anger bubbled up. If he had been so concerned about her, why didn't he talk to her? She would have found a way to stay with him if he had truly cared about her. Instead he had chosen the coward's way out and hurt them both. Of course, with such a lack of devotion shown in his actions, it probably hadn't hurt him that much.

She heard a noise and, broken out of her musings, hurried into the kitchen. Doug and Rahne were throwing handfuls of sugar, flour, and cocoa at each other. They stopped abruptly when she came in and, for a moment, she could only stare at the mess they'd made.

Then she sighed. On any other day she would have found it funny, or she would have been irritated. Instead, she could only feel that, if things had been different, Rahne would have been getting into these fixes earlier, playing with other children.

Maybe Charles had made a school. Maybe Rahne would love it there. But now she had an idea of what it was that caused him to push her away, why he didn't let her stay. It was a weak reason, but one that cut her to the core.

In the wake of that knowledge, questions that had once been inconsequential now seemed terribly important. Could she trust that man to take care of her daughter? Could she trust him to have followed through with any of his promises?

Probably not. For now though, her kitchen was a warzone. One mess at a time.

"What am I going to do with you?" she asked.

The question came out more tired than she'd intended.


	9. Chapter 9

February 24, 1971

Moira hugged Levine as he came in. He looked jet-lagged and tired, but he was used to flying uncomfortable overnight flights. He always shook off jet lag fairly quickly, and that had been on business trips. This one was all for fun.

"I hope the flight was good," she said.

"Oh, besides the terrible food and lack of leg room," Levine said, "I swear, it gets smaller each time I fly. My knees are just about up to my chest."

Moira chuckled.

"Next thing you know, they'll be telling me that I can't smoke."

"Well, just as a heads up, you can't smoke in here," said Moira, "Smoke irritates Rahne."

"Right, of course," Levine said, "Sensitive nose, right?"

She was glad that she had told Levine about her daughter's mutation. It meant that she had someone that she could trust clued in on all the details. Moira smiled and let him go. He cleared his throat and looked around.

"So, where is she?"

Moira smiled again.

"Rahne?" she called.

Her daughter peeped around the corner. The only thing showing was her eyes and hands, which had curled around the edge of the wall. She was also close to the ground, no doubt in a crouch.

Some things never changed.

"This is my friend, John Levine," Moira said.

"Just call me Levine," Levine said, "It sticks, even among friends."

Rahne hesitated, and then got up. She stepped out from behind the wall and walked towards him. She bit her lip before offering her hand. That little gesture in and of itself spoke of the progress that Moira had made with Rahne. Her heart swelled.

"I'm Rahne," she said softly.

"I know," Levine said, crouching down and briefly grasping her hand, "Your mother's told me so much about you."

He let go of Rahne's hand.

"And I trust Moira's judgment," Levine said.

He leaned forward, his voice a conspiratorial whisper.

"She was always much smarter than me," he said.

Moira laughed. Levine looked at his suitcase and dug around inside.

"However, it's bad manners for me to meet you here, in your home, and not bring you a gift," he said, "So I did some looking around...let's see...aha!"

He grinned at Rahne.

"Fresh from America-" he said.

He pulled out a stuffed toy. Moira almost choked.

"Minnie Mouse," Levine said proudly.

Rahne reached out and took her. She looked her over once or twice.

"Is that her name?" she asked.

Levine frowned.

"Of course it is," he said.

"Okay," Rahne said.

She hugged the toy.

"Thank you," she said.

Levine's frown deepened. Poor Levine. She supposed he had been expecting a better reaction. Perhaps it was time to tell him that there were some differences between American children and Scottish ones. Moira put a hand on his shoulder.

"Minnie Mouse...Disney isn't quite as widespread here as it is in other places," she said, "And we don't have a movie theater nearby, so..."

Levine's eyes shot up to her in alarm.

"You mean you haven't been showing her Disney cartoons?" Levine said, "And you call yourself an American mother."

Moira chuckled and Levine turned to Rahne.

"We'll have to fix that," Levine said, "You see Minnie there?"

Rahne nodded.

"Well, Minnie's real," Levine said, "That's just a stuffed toy, but Minnie's real."

"Huh?" Rahne asked.

"Yup," said Levine, "She's about as tall as Moira over there."

Rahne drew her eyebrows together, and then she nodded. Moira wondered if she should stop Levine. He meant well, but Rahne had no way to know that he wasn't telling the truth. After all, Rahne lived in a world where she could turn into a wolf-like creature. A giant talking mouse was probably nothing.

"Now, the real Minnie lives in a beautiful kingdom in California," he said, "That's in America."

"I know that," Rahne said, "Doug told me."

"Your friend is smart then," Levine said, "But this kingdom, it's filled with magic and princesses. She's also going to have another home in Florida in a few months, and that's going to have even more magic."

"Really?" Rahne asked.

"Really," said Levine, "They make movies about it and everything. Have your mom take you to one sometime."

Rahne's face was a mixture of wonder and disbelief. Perhaps she really should take her to a movie sometime. There were just so many people there.

"If you ever come to America, I'm going to make sure that you and your mother get down there," Levine said, "The California one: I hate Florida. But every kid should go there at least once. And then you can meet the real Minnie."

Rahne nodded, looking at Minnie with a speculative eye. Moira shook her head.

"You and I are going to need to talk sometime Levine," she said.

"Right, right," he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender, "Now then, are you going to show me around the island or what?"

"Sure," Moira said, grabbing her coat.

It took a little while to get everything ready, but a few minutes later saw them walking near the shoreline. It was too cold this time of year to actually go into the water, and it looked bleak even in the summer. Still, it was a good way to get a feel for the island.

"Mom and I come down here all the time in the summer," Rahne said, "I have a whole bunch of shells in my room."

"Are you making a necklace?" Levine asked.

"No. Dunno know what gonna do with 'em," Rahne said, "Maybe I'll cover a box with 'em or something. I saw some pictures in a catalog."

"Not a bad plan," said Levine.

"Rahne!"

Rahne's head shot up. Doug was about a hundred feet away from them, waving his hand. Rahne looked up at Moira for approval. She nodded, and Rahne took off to meet her friend, her movements still retaining a loping gait even now.

"She seems like a normal kid," Levine said.

"She is a normal kid," Moira said.

Levine combed his fingers through his hair.

"Not to sound insensitive, but that's not true," said Levine, "She's got it pretty good here, a mother who loves her, a friend who cares, all that kind of stuff. But it's not going to...when she gets older..."

"I know," Moira said, her voice quiet, "You don't need to remind me."

Her friend shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I totally killed that mood," he said.

"Yes," Moira said, "But unfortunately, there is something in that vein that I needed to talk to you about concerning Rahne."

Levine's eyebrows shot up.

"Is this about those bastards who hurt you two?" he asked, "I tried Moira, I really did, but the assholes back at the police station wouldn't let me get involved. I tried to get international permission and all, but I couldn't. Not without letting McCone or that asshole Stryker in on it."

He winced.

"Pardon my language," he said.

"No, you did the right thing," Moira said, stifling a chuckle, "I don't think it would do for them to know about any more mutants. Especially not my daughter."

"Yeah," Levine said.

He coughed.

"They never did find those freaks, did they?" he asked.

"No," Moira said, "I wanted to hire a private investigator...but...there wasn't a lot of money and, well, it works differently here."

She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. Rahne had deserved justice for what had happened to her, and on a more selfish level Moira wanted to kick those men in the teeth. The case was still on the books though, still out in the open two years later.

"Right," he said.

He gave a frustrated sigh.

"I should've found a way around Stryker," he said, "Him or asshole junior."

"Asshole junior?" Moira asked.

"Turns out Stryker has a son. He's about thirty now I think?" said Levine, "I don't know. He creeps the hell outta me. I'm glad he's not going into business with us."

"Then why are you seeing him?" Moira said.

There was a pause, and Moira quickly tried to backtrack.

"Sorry," she said, "We can't discuss these things anymore."

"To hell with that," Levine snapped, "As far as I'm concerned, you still work for the CIA."

Moira grinned. She couldn't tell if she were more amused or touched by Levine's sentiment.

"I think that McCone would have a word or two with you on that if he knew you felt that way," she said.

"I'm serious," Levine said.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"But what was it you needed?" Levine asked.

She gave him a sad smile.

"Rahne's growing up," she said.

"Not very fast," he said, "She's awful small. I thought she was four when I saw her."

"She's had too many years of malnutrition," Moira said.

"Right."

Moira cleared her throat. Levine's face fell.

"Xavier's school?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, "I was wondering if there was any news."

Levine looked glumly at Rahne and Doug.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I couldn't...Moira, there was a promising lead, a teacher, but he told me that the school closed a long time ago."

Moira closed her eyes. Part of her was relieved, but a tiny part of her was weeping. What had happened to Charles that had made him abandon his dream, that had pushed him so far away from the man he'd been? Why had he abandoned the school?

Why had he abandoned her?

"It wasn't open for very long," Levine said, "I couldn't get an address, but he was very adamant that it was closed."

She thought about the man with the sad blue eyes, the stupid, foolish, brilliant man that she had loved and accidentally hurt on a beach one day in Cuba. The memory came back to her, sharp and powerful, of him bleeding in her arms. Moira inhaled deeply, and then pushed the image away and opened her eyes.

"No," she said, "You did your best."

Levine glared at the ground.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I just said-"

"No," Levine said, "All of it. What happened with Cuba, the CIA, all of it. I'm sorry Moira. It shouldn't have been this way. I should've done something."

She turned her head towards him. Although Levine had expressed his feelings on her abrupt resignation on many occasions, she hadn't heard this point of view.

"How do you blame yourself?" Moira asked.

"Lots of ways," said Levine, "I should've had your back more. I was your partner Moira, and I just stood by while some asshole...I should've helped."

Moira sighed and held her head with her hand.

"I never needed you protecting me," Moira said, "I...trusted someone I shouldn't have, true enough. But, even if I had been warned, I don't think I would've listened."

Levine coughed.

"You remember enough about how you were then to know that?" he asked.

"I do," Moira said, "Wherever Charles is, whatever his real feelings on the matter were, whatever he felt for me, I know what I was thinking when everything went down."

There was a pause.

"Did he...do you think he cared for you?" Levine asked.

It was the question of a curious friend, and Moira had to sigh. It was a question that she could answer honestly, but one she didn't like the answer to. It was a tough reality to face, especially after everything she'd felt, what she had forced herself not to feel, but she couldn't quite say it yet.

"It doesn't matter," she said, "But that means there's something else I need to talk to you about now."

"What is it?" Levine asked.

His voice was eager, and Moira resisted the urge to laugh. Even after everything, Levine was the most dependable person she knew.

"The reason why I wanted Rahne to stay on Muir Island in the first place was because it was isolated, but there were plenty of places for her to play," she said, "It's an island Levine, an island with almost nothing on it but a research center."

He cocked his head.

"Go on," he said.

"And then I asked myself, why am I wasting my facilities on insect research?" she asked, "Why aren't I inviting genetics researchers? People who studied the next possible step in human evolution. Charles Xavier wasn't the only one who'd published a paper like that."

Realization was dawning on Levine's face, and Moira continued.

"So I reached out to them, and held some discussions," she said, "And I told them my plan. and some of them for, let's just say personal reasons, decided it would be a good idea to start working on Muir Island."

"Are you-?" Levine asked.

"Yes," Moira said.

She gestured around the island.

"If I can't find a preexisting sanctuary for my daughter, for all the other mutants like her," she said, "I thought, why don't I make one?"

Levine was grinning now, his eyes excited.

"You've got everything in order then?" he asked.

"Just about. I have three doctors who have signed up," she said, "Four scientists, and one teacher. I thought it would be a good back-up plan, even if we did find Xavier's school. They all know it will be for mutants. I'm thinking about asking Doug's parents to join."

"You haven't already?" he asked.

She looked over at Doug. While the boy was devoted to her daughter, there had been a few comments from Doug's father that made Moira hesitate.

"I'm still testing the waters," she said, "But all I need now is connections across the sea."

Levine's grin became brighter.

"Of course," he said.

She smiled and shifted her gaze to Rahne. She was splashing water at Doug, who was laughing and stepping backwards.

"I may not be able to give Rahne a fancy school," she said, "But I can give her Muir Island."


	10. Chapter 10

January 30, 1972

Charles looked glumly at the television set. Hank had insisted on watching the news, and he'd reluctantly agreed. He didn't feel like there was too much to watch though. Walter Cronkite was as depressed as ever about the war, and Charles had little interest in things that went on outside the walls of Westchester.

He wasn't even sure if he was interested in what went on inside of Westchester.

"Makes you wonder, doesn't it?" Hank asked, his voice quiet.

Charles looked over at him blearily. His hangover was killing him.

"What about?" he asked.

Hank gave him a sharp look. Charles couldn't see why he would be mad at him though.

"Alex," Hank said.

"Right, of course," Charles mumbled.

He shifted guiltily.

"How is he doing?" he asked.

"Holding up," Hank said, his voice stiff, "It's tough over there, and he's already gotten a pretty good idea that he's not getting much support from home. That makes it harder."

A spark of curiosity stirred inside him.

"Just how much does he know?" Charles asked.

"Not all of it, thank God," muttered Hank, "But he knows he's not going to come home to a parade."

Charles sighed and turned back to the screen. Cronkite was talking about a new topic, but Charles kept thinking about Alex. How could he have forgotten him? He supposed he hadn't, not really, but he'd stopped thinking about him regularly, and that was a kind of forgetfulness.

"Why did he do it?" Hank ask.

"What, get drafted?" asked Charles.

He couldn't help the edge of sarcasm in his voice. Hank glanced over at him.

"Why didn't he just go to Canada?" Hank asked, "It would've been easy enough. Or we could've hidden him. I mean, you're a telepath. You told him you would've hidden him, didn't you? You-"

"Of course I offered Alex that," snapped Charles.

The words came out bitter, much more bitter than he'd wanted them to, but he couldn't help it.

"He thought it wasn't honorable," Charles said.

Hank blinked.

"That surprises you?" asked Charles.

"Kind of," Hank said, "He...I mean, he had his own kind of honor. Not the kind that would keep him from kicking a downed opponent, or making fun of people, but it was there. Just..."

He sighed.

"Just, not like that," he said.

"Apparently he had enough of that kind of honor to not want to flee to Canada or have me rummage around in the recruiting officer's mind," Charles muttered, "He thought it was so much more honorable to go over there and get blown up."

"He hasn't been blown up yet."

"Goodie. For a moment I thought that there wouldn't be anything to look forward to this year."

Hank gave him that sharp look again. He got up and switched off the TV. Charles rolled his eyes and began to get up.

"Well, so glad I came downstairs for that," he said, "Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"Charles, please stop."

The words sounded pitiful and defeated. Charles was so surprised he fell back into his seat.

"Please don't say things like that," Hank said.

The scientist was looking anywhere but at Charles, his voice deep and tired. Charles drew back slightly, still mildly shocked.

"Not after everything we went through," said Hank, "Yes, the Institute is gone, but we built it. Not just the walls and the dorms, but the classes and the student clubs. We drew up plans, and dreamed big dreams."

Hank ran a hand through his hair.

"Do you remember all of that?" he asked, "Do you remember what we did? Me, and you, and Alex...and...and..."

His voice choked.

"...and Sean," he said, "And Moira too."

Charles looked away, closing his eyes.

"Do you remember what it was like back then?" Hank asked, his voice plaintive, "How good it was?"

_"I can help you get the zoning permits," Moira said, "And we can do it subtly. There are a few channels that I know how to go through."_

_"Are you sure they'll forget who I am?" asked Charles._

_"Well, if your money doesn't work, then your powers certainly will."_

_He chuckled and began to wheel his chair closer to the table. The chair stuck on the edge of the rug, stopping him from going any further. He swore quietly and tried to circumvent it, but Moira noticed. She walked over and calmly untangled the rug from his wheel. _

_"You don't have to help me all the time," he said. _

_"What kind of person would I be if I didn't want to help you?" asked Moira, "I'd be careless in the very least, and cruel at worst."_

_She smiled, but she looked a little tired. _

_"Is everything alright?" he asked. _

_"Oh, the CIA's just pestering me for some information," she said, "I don't think that I'll answer the phone anymore. Too much bad news, you know?"_

_He nodded, even as tendrils of worry started in his chest. They weren't intruding now, that was true. But soon they would start pestering in earnest soon and breaking down doors. He hoped that Moira would tell him before it got to that level. He didn't want to see her hurt, not after everything she'd done for them, everything she'd done for him. _

_He didn't want to see her go. _

_"Let's not talk about that right now though," she said. _

_He managed a smile and wheeled up to the table. True to her word, the permits were scattered over the table, right next to some schematics. Hank had been hard at work, making delicate sketches with white pencil._

_"This looks like it's going to be difficult," Charles said, "I'm not sure we can rent the equipment to knock this wall down without attracting too much attention."_

_"Good thing you have me then," said Alex, walking into the room and taking a bite out of an apple. _

_He leaned over the schematics, nodding. _

_"Nice," he said, spraying bits of apple onto the drawings. _

_"Stop making a mess," Moira said. _

_Alex shrugged and tossed the apple into the air, catching it on the way back down. Hank walked in, carrying a box stuffed with papers. Sean trailed behind him, carrying another box. There was a model plane sitting on top of it. _

_"Good, you're all here," Hank said, putting the box down. _

_"Hey, nothing else is going on," shrugged Alex. _

_Sean set his box down and picked up the model plane. Now that Charles got a good look at it, he could see that it was a replica of the Blackbird. _

_"You're not building another plane, are you?" Charles asked, "We don't need one."_

_"We might though," said Hank, "I mean, not all of those kids are going to be able to afford air fare."_

_"You just want to build another plane," Alex said. _

_Hank shot him an annoyed look. _

_"I want to be able to give us a vehicle that will transport us quickly around the world if the need arises," Hank said, adjusting his glasses. _

_Alex laughed and took another bite of his apple. _

_"Whatever."_

_More crumbs sprayed across the schematics. Moira rolled her eyes. _

_"Alex, chew with your mouth closed!" she said. _

_"She's right," Sean said, "I mean, I like you and all, but I don't like seeing your teeth covered with apple mash. It's pretty gross."_

_Alex took another bit out of the apple before tossing it across the room into a trash can. He made a face at them before swallowing. _

_"Happy?" he asked. _

_"Very," Moira said. _

_She used the edge of her pencil to brush some of the apple crumbs off the schematic. _

_"It looks like you did a good job on this Hank," she said, "I'm impressed."_

_"We'll need to get to work if we want to get this done before next year's term," Hank said, "I think that all of the renovations should take a year."_

_"That would be plenty of time to find and vet a staff," said Charles, "Your priority will have to be to rebuild Cerebro though."_

_Hank adjusted his glasses, and then shook his head. _

_"Where?" asked Hank, "The last installation I had, that was pretty big. I don't think that I can do anything that obvious around here."_

_"Why don't you just build it underground?" Sean said, "I mean, that would be pretty cool."_

_"You just want us to be like James Bond," said Alex. _

_"Hey, you like James Bond!"_

_Hank tapped his lips thoughtfully._

_"That might work actually," he said, "I'd need to do some more research on the foundations though."_

_"I think I have the blueprints somewhere," Charles said. _

_"Excellent," Hank said, grinning. _

_Charles looked at all of them. They all looked so hopeful. He could still feel pain in his chest, the pain of losing his legs, his sister, his friend, his old life. However, a new life was beginning here, with a new family. _

_It wouldn't replace what he had, but it was still beautiful. _

"Yes, I remember," Charles spat, opening his eyes, "I remember every damn day. And I remember why it's gone, so thank you very much for reminding me!"

"What?" Hank said.

He could see the shock on Hank's face, and he got a mean satisfaction from it. It was time that Hank understood.

"It's gone, all of it, all of the good times," Charles said, "And we know exactly whose fault it was, don't we?"

"How was any of that your fault?" asked Hank.

"Cut the bullshit," Charles said.

"No," Hank said, "You didn't start the war. You didn't do anything-"

"I did everything!"

The shout hurt his voice. It was too hoarse from disuse, too painful.

"I couldn't keep them with us!" said Charles, "Neither of them! My own sister Hank! I...I grew up with her, practically raised her, but I was too blind to what she needed to hold enough of her affection for her to stay!"

"Raven, Raven made her own choices," Hank said.

His voice caught, but Charles was too angry, too miserable to care.

"And Erik?" asked Charles, "I let that bastard into my life, gave him my trust, and he took the things that mattered most to me! It's not like I stopped him! I practically giftwrapped her!"

"Erik was messed up long before you met him!" Hank argued.

Charles gritted his teeth, more pain pushing through him now. He felt as though his words were droplets of blood from his heart.

"And Moira?" he asked.

"What?'

"How do you justify what I did to Moira?" Charles snapped.

Hank moved away, licking his lips.

"I sent her away!" Charles shouted, getting to his feet, "I forced her to leave when she wouldn't have because otherwise her boss would have come after her, after us! I sent you all into the field, little more than children, and Sean died! He died Hank! That was my fault! I had to tell his parents...I had to lie to them because...because they couldn't know the truth! I couldn't even convince Alex to stay and I can honestly see why he didn't want to!"

He spread his hands out.

"Look at this!" he said, "Look at what we built Hank, look at what happened to all of those dreams, all those days spent around tables chatting and planning! It was for nothing Hank, nothing at all!"

He raked a hand through his filthy hair.

"If I had any courage then I would've ended it before now," Charles said.

Hank got up, his eyes wide in alarm.

"You don't mean that," he said.

"Don't I?" he asked, "Unfortunately I'm a coward, so you don't have to worry about me doing anything foolish. I don't have the guts to."

"You wouldn't have said that five years ago," Hank said.

Charles chuckled, but it was dark and painful. He turned away and began walking up the stairs. He risked a look back, and saw tears welling up in Hank's eyes.

"What happened to you?" Hank asked.

The answer came to him easily, an answer he'd realized years ago.

"Like I said, it's all gone. And I did it," Charles said, his voice barely a murmur, "I just finally figured it out."


	11. Chapter 11

January 26, 1973

"Rahne?"

Rahne continued to stare into the snow, idly tracing a figure with a stick. She knew that Doug was trying to say something, but she liked the way that he said her name. There were so few people who said it with affection. Even fewer people said it with a kind of curiosity, and that's what she liked about him.

She stabbed the snow with her stick. It was messing up the picture, but it was kind of fun. Snow felt like a piece of paper sometimes, just ripe for doodling. It had taken her years to stop being afraid of snow, afraid of the cold it brought.

She briefly glanced at the trees above her. She liked it when they froze over. It made it look like they were covered in crystals.

"Rahne?"

She blinked and looked over at Doug. There were flecks of snow in his hair, and he was shivering. He always got so cold so easily.

"You wanna go in, don't you?" she asked.

He nodded, his teeth chattering slightly. Rahne got lightly to her feet. She looked around them. There were a few snowmen scattered, around, the product of a busy afternoon. Her mom would probably be waiting for them, with hot chocolate at the ready.

She turned around and started walking towards the house.

"We can go in," she said.

Doug grinned and hurried after her.

"You're so much faster than I am," he said.

The words weren't a complaint. Doug never complained about anything, her silences included. Anything that had irritated other people left him in awe. He was a bit like her mother in that way.

So Rahne smiled at him. He liked it when she did that. She still wasn't sure why.

"I'm just a fast person," she said.

Doug sighed, but he still looked happy. He always looked happy.

"Do you think your mom will let us bake a chocolate cake?" he asked, "I'd really like some chocolate cake."

"I don't think she'll let us do much of anything after last time," Rahne said.

"That was over a year ago," argued Doug, "I wouldn't do that again."

"I don't believe you."

"Aww, Rahne!"

Again, that strange way that he said her name. She had been friends with him for several years now, and she never got sick of it. She never got sick of the way he wanted to spend time with her, to play games, to be patient while she relearned simple things.

"I bet she'd let us if you asked," Doug said.

Rahne turned around to point out that, no, she probably wouldn't. Things happened quickly after that. She heard the branch snap begin to snap above them, smelt the snow shift, felt the ground shake beneath the force.

Rahne grabbed Doug's arm and yanked him a way. The branch came down soon after that, sending snow flying with a sickening thump. Doug's sudden weight threw her balance off, and she fell backwards into the snow.

The snow that was loosened by the impact of the branch sprayed into the air, covering her. She felt it over her face and, for the first time in years, Rahne began to feel an old panic blossom. Her mind whispered memories of a fierce struggle with the elements, of being buried beneath an avalanche of snow, of the cold seeping into her bones.

She flailed out wildly, kicking the snow away. Rahne got to her feet, shoving the snow off her arms and legs, out of her hair. She needed to get the cold off her. If she got too cold, she would die, and then it would all be for nothing.

"Rahne?"

She looked up. Doug was looking at her with a slow, patient look. It grounded her and, after a struggle, she was able to remember where she was. She wasn't out in the wild anymore, fighting for her next meal. She wasn't an animal anymore. She was a human girl with a mother and a friend.

"I'm okay," she said.

Doug nodded, but he still looked hesitant. After a few seconds, he shyly held out his hand.

"You should hold this, so you don't get dizzy or anything," he said.

"I said I was okay," Rahne frowned.

Doug let his hand drop to his side.

"Oh. Okay," he said.

He jerked his head towards the way they had come. Rahne trudged after him, no longer feeling as chipper as she had a moment before. Doug looked back at her every few seconds as they walked, chewing his lip.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

He bit down on his lip again.

"I dunno," he said, "You were really fast back there. Even for you."

She frowned, and he shrugged.

"With the branch," he said.

Rahne paused.

"Faster than you," she said, "You just said so."

"I know," Doug said, "But you weren't even looking up. You knew it was going to fall."

Rahne looked away from him. He might be her friend, but she doubted he would be okay with what she was able to do. Nobody else was, not except her mom and Uncle Levine. Not that she'd ever changed in front of her uncle. She'd been far too nervous.

"I don't wanna talk about it," she said.

"Rahne, I'm not stupid."

She gave him a cool look.

"Didn't call you stupid," she said.

"No," Doug said, his voice bitter, "But I notice things, okay? You sniff the air and smell things Rahne. Like, a lot. And you have these amazing reflexes, and this crouchy way you walk when you think that no one's looking."

Rahne flushed. He'd seen all of that? She'd always been so careful. However, Doug had been with her more often than any other person except her mother.

"So, if there's something you wanna tell me, I'd be cool with it," Doug said.

She continued walking, not looking at him. Doug stepped in front of her, his eyes wide and pleading.

"Rahne, I think you're awesome," he said, "You don't hafta keep secrets from me."

"It doesn't matter," she said.

"I just wanna know."

"Stop it."

"I just wanna know Rahne," Doug begged.

Rahne glared at him, but she could feel something sinking deep inside her. He wouldn't like her if he knew she could do strange things. It was too much of a risk.

"Please?' he asked.

She bit her lip. Rahne didn't want to lose Doug as a friend, but she didn't want him to be mad either. She exhaled slowly, thinking of her mother. She'd never really told her not to change, just warned her. Rahne hadn't needed a warning after everything, but she had listened dutifully.

Could she trust Doug with this?

"Don't wanna," she said.

Rahne expected Doug to get angry, to storm off. Instead his lower lip trembled slightly, and she saw tears in his eyes.

"You're crying," she said.

"I'm not," Doug sniffed.

"Why you crying?" she asked.

Doug looked down.

"It's okay that you don't wanna tell me," he said.

Rahne looked at her friend and realized that, no, it wasn't alright. Doug didn't want her keeping secrets from him. She didn't want to either, but how could he understand why she could do all the things she could do? He couldn't.

He was her only friend though, and he was hurting. Shouldn't she try to help? Shouldn't she be strong? She thought back to when she had met him, to when he had asked her if Rahne was a Scottish name.

He might be her only friend, but maybe she was his only friend too.

"Please don't be scared," she said.

Doug looked up, and Rahne changed. She didn't change too much, just let her eyes become yellow, let her wolf ears grow. She even let a few fringes of fur grow around her face. It wasn't much, but it was all she thought Doug was ready for. Even then it was probably too much.

Her friend gaped at her.

"Rahne?"

The curious way that he said her name was gone. Instead there was just shock. His eyes were blank and his jaw was slack. A churning feeling started within her stomach. Rahne felt tears fill her eyes, burning against the cold.

She had been wrong. She shouldn't have done this. She turned away and began running towards her house, towards her mother, towards someone who still cared about her. Her mother didn't care what she looked like.

"Rahne!"

She didn't slow down. The tears were streaming down her eyes earnestly now, and she wanted to be anywhere but there. It was all she could do not to howl. She wanted to be safely in her mother's arms, away from idiots like Doug, idiots she'd thought she could trust.

"Rahne!"

She didn't answer. She was so close to her house now.

"Please! Rahne! I can't catch up!"

She stopped then, more out of instinct than anything. Doug was trundling after her, looking desperate.

"I'm sorry!" he panted, "I'm really, really sorry!"

Rahne didn't move, surprised and uncertain. What was happening?

"I was surprised!" he said, catching up to her, "I didn't mean to seem mean or make you cry. I just didn't know you could do that!"

She continued to look at him. Was he saying that he didn't mind?

"I don't mind," Doug said, "I..."

He looked down shyly before meeting her eyes.

"I think it's kind of cool," he said.

The tears stopped, and Rahne managed a shaky smile. Maybe he was different.

"Think you're kind of cool too," she said.

* * *

><p>"Do you believe him?"<p>

Charles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He winced as he did so. His hair was really, really filthy.

"I...I think so," he said.

Hank looked over at him as he put the final suitcase into the car.

"You think so?" Hank scoffed.

"He knew things about me," said Charles, "And, well, he was right. I'd never told any of those things to anyone."

_You almost told it to Moira. Then you sent her away._

Hank paused, his whole body tense.

"Charles, if that's true, then-"

"Then we may be looking at a future war between mutants and humanity," Charles said, "Just another piece of good news to add to the list."

Hank slammed the trunk shut.

"Stop it," he said.

"Sorry?"

"Just stop it," Hank said, "I know last time I tried to talk to you it didn't work out-"

"God, not this again," moaned Charles.

"Shut up," snapped Hank, "I am so sick of all of this. I'm sick of you not caring. I'm sick of this pessimism, and I'm sick of all of this. So stop it."

He waved a hand.

"You know, a year ago you mentioned that you knew why Alex left," he said, "And, you know what, maybe you're right. But there's something that you haven't considered."

Charles sneered.

"And what's that?" he asked.

"Why I stayed after everyone else left," Hank snarled.

Charles took a step as Hank pushed away from the trunk. Hank's eyes were growing darker by the second.

"It's not because I'm scared of the world out there, although it's pretty damn scary for me," he said, "And it's not because I'm confused, or because I don't know what I want to do."

He pounded his fist on the car. It dented.

"It's because I won't give up on you, because I know you're better than this," Hank said, "And maybe I'll fail for another couple of years, but you can't push me away like you've done to everyone else."

Charles opened his mouth, trying to form a response, but his tongue wasn't working. It took him two tries to come out with something.

"I could make you."

"Right, like you made Moira," Hank snapped, "Don't you think I know that?"

He shook his head.

"But I'm not scared," Hank said, "So get in the damn car, and let's go save the world."


	12. Chapter 12

March 7, 1973

Doug handed Rahne several daisies. She nodded and began slitting the stems with her fingernails. She'd have enough for a really big daisy chain soon enough.

"We have enough for me," she said, "Do you want one? Mom showed me how to do it, and she says I'm really good."

"Sure," Doug said.

He sounded gloomy. Rahne quirked her head.

"Not want one?" she asked, "I won't mind."

"No, I do," Doug said, "I just...I just don't really wanna go back home when we're done here."

Rahne threaded two more daisies into the daisy crown.

"Why's that?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"My uncle's gonna be there," he said, "I don't like my uncle."

"Oh," Rahne said.

She continued threading daisies. She didn't really know what to say to that particular piece of information. Rahne might be able to hold conversations now, but that still didn't mean that she could continue difficult ones. She hoped Doug knew that.

"He's loud and mean," Doug said, "But that's not the worst of it."

_Thank you God_, Rahne thought, _Thank you for giving me someone who fills my silences, says what he needs to say._

"Oh?" she asked.

"My dad listens to him," he said, "Thinks he knows what's what. And my mom goes along with my dad. So if my uncle says that I should go to bed early, or I shouldn't be reading so many books, or asks why I'm not into sports, my dad does too. And then my mom does."

"That's bad," Rahne said.

Doug nodded.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to read," he said, "That's what my parents say when he's not around. I hate that things are different when he's around."

Rahne added several more daisies onto the chain, still feeling awkward.

"But...if it's just while he's here, then it passes soon, right?" she asked.

"Things like reading, yeah," said Doug, "But they try to do things he tells them. Made me sign up for little league when mom and dad were studying in America."

He began pulling fistfuls of grass.

"Didn't go well."

Rahne finished the daisy chain, chewing her tongue. Now she knew she had to say something. Maybe she should just say what she was thinking. She didn't have any other option, not if she wanted to avoid the silence.

"Well, I like you anyway," she said.

Doug looked up and flashed a grin at her. She grinned back and placed the daisy crown on his head.

"Rahne, I look like a girl!" he said.

"You said you didn't mind," Rahne said.

He took the crown off and put it on her head instead.

"There," he said, "You're prettier than I am, so it looks better on you."

"Prettier?" Rahne asked.

"Like a princess," he said.

She laughed and got to her feet, brushing the dirt off her overalls.

"Not a princess," she said, "A princess isn't interesting."

"The Scottish ones are," Doug said, "Or the queens anyway."

"I wanna be a queen, a queen like Esther," Rahne said, interested, "She was brave."

"Queen Boudica was brave," said Doug, "And she was Scottish like you."

"Huh," Rahne said.

"Well, Celtic."

She shifted her feet.

"What did she do?" asked Rahne.

"She was Queen of those people I told you about who painted themselves blue to fight. She led an army, a really big one," Doug said, "And she used it to fight Romans who tried to take her home. There was a really big war."

Rahne rocked on her feet. It was always cool when Doug told her stories like this. Rahne tried to picture this Boudica leading an army and fighting the people who'd occupied Jerusalem. She looked a little like her mother in her mind's eye.

Render unto Ceasar what is Ceasar's.

"Did she win?" asked Rahne.

"No," Doug said, "But I think the fighting part is important."

Rahne thought for a moment, and nodded.

"But so is winning," she said.

"I guess," Doug said.

Rahne crossed her arms.

"But I don't wannna be a fairytale princess," she said, "A fairytale princess is like Red Riding Hood, isn't she?"

"Sort of," Doug admitted, getting up.

"I'm more like the wolf," said Rahne.

She changed slowly, letting her ears shift and fur grow over her skin. Doug smiled at her and Rahne grinned, baring her eyeteeth.

"Get away from him, monster!"

Rahne felt a strong hand shove her to the ground. A man stood in front of Doug, holding him back from helping her up.

"Freak!" he yelled.

_Monster. Demon. Freak. Satan's daughter!_

Rahne felt her breath catch in her throat. Her mind began to blink and, suddenly, she was back on the hill, feeling the cold mud squelch beneath her palms. Her whole body felt buried in the cold. She remembered the futility of it all, remembering her mind going out to the only one who had ever given any indication of love.

_God, don't let it hurt much,_ she'd thought, _Don't let it hurt much, please, so cold, when I see you, please be warm._

Then her mother had been there, but she wasn't there then-

"What the hell are you doing?"

* * *

><p>"What the hell are you doing?"<p>

Moira had been at the facility working on some plans to expand one of the wings. There was just enough money to make it work, although they were going to have to take it in small doses. Even with all of the donations, both by genetic institutions she'd managed to contact and personal contributions, money was going to be tight.

Because of the interest of the genetic institutions, they were going to start off as a very small school attached to a big research facility. That could work in their favor too. Mutants got sick and their unique biology might make treatment difficult.

Usually she didn't like to leave Rahne alone, but she was just playing with Doug on the fringe of the woods. That wasn't a big deal, and she wouldn't be gone for long. It was a point of pride to her that Rahne was to the point where she could be alone with a friend. If Doug had understood what a big step it was, she was sure he would be proud of himself too.

She'd been a few minutes from her home when she'd heard the scream of "Freak!" She'd begun running then, her heart pounding. When she'd seen the man holding back Doug, her daughter in the mud, she'd all but screamed out her question.

Before he could answer, she'd shoved him away from her daughter and pulled Doug from his stunned hand, standing in front of them. Rahne immediately scurried up so that she could hide behind Moira. Her eyes met his, and he glared at her.

"I don't know who you think you are-" he said.

"I'm Rahne's mother," Moira snapped, "Who the hell are you?"

She could feel the righteous indignation flowing through her, the sheer fury at anyone who would dare lay a finger on her little girl.

"I'm Doug's uncle," he spat.

Moira frowned. Yes, Doug's father had mentioned that his brother Phillip was coming for a visit. He hadn't mentioned that he was insane, but sometimes people tend to forget little details like that when they talk about their family.

"And that gives you what right to talk to my daughter like that?" she demanded.

He sneered.

"I'll do that to any freak who's trying to poison my nephew."

For a moment Moira had no idea what he was talking about. Then an unpleasant, churning anger began in her stomach.

"My daughter isn't a freak," she said, "She's not the one being an asshole to children. Now get the hell away before I call the cops."

He took another step forward. Moira could feel his hot breath on her face.

"Oh yeah?" he asked, "And you intend to make me...how?"

Moira could see Phillip smirk. He was expecting a slap, something that would sting but he could shrug off. All men expected a slap when they ran into an outraged woman. She wasn't sure why: maybe they'd watched too much tv.

No matter. It never hurt her, because it meant that they weren't expecting a punch, and a proper punch, putting the weight on the right foot and stepping into it. He reeled beneath the impact of her fist, disoriented.

Her father had taught her what to do next, something that the CIA had never quite understood the value of. Moira kicked him in the crotch as hard as she could, sending him to his knees, crying out in pain. Once he was on his knees, she kicked him across the face.

Once he was lying prostrate, his nose a bloody mess, Moira picked Rahne up. Rahne was older than she had been the night that she had curled up into Moira's side long ago. She was bigger and heavier, but anger and worry gave her strength.

She pulled Rahne into the yard, grabbing onto Doug's hand with her spare arm as she did so. Moira slammed the fence after them, locking it as Phillip began to look up.

"You little-" he wheezed.

"There is nothing original you can call me," she said coldly, "Now get the hell off of my property before I call the cops."

"I'm not in your damn yard-"

"I'm not talking about the damn yard," Moira hissed, "I'm talking about the damn island."

Phillip looked at her with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"That's right," she said, "It's all mine."

Phillip's eyes slid from her to Doug. He shrank back and Moira stepped in front of him.

"I'll release him to his parents, and no one else," she said, "If your brother has any sense, then he's not going to let you anywhere near his child ever again."

Phillip sneered at her as he staggered to his feet.

"You really think you're something, don't you?" he snapped, "Some sort of hot shot?"

Rahne whimpered and Moira narrowed her eyes. An old, sharp pain had come back. This freak had hurt her daughter, and she hadn't been there to help. She remembered the hospital, the crippling pain and guilt when a loved one is injured and you knew that you were to blame. It had been another lesson she'd learned from Charles.

She looked him in the eye, let him see just what he was going up against. She drew memories of the beach, of the ships and the sailors, the shots, the threat of nuclear war. He had no idea who she was.

"You may be a monster," she said, "But I've gone up against people who could eat twelve of you for breakfast and still come out hungry."

She leaned in a little.

"So I'll say this one more time: get the hell off of my property before I call the goddamn cops," she said.

Phillip blinked at her, and then he staggered towards the other end of the island. Moira picked up Rahne again and jerked Doug forward by his hand. Her mind was pounding away, and she scarcely registered what was she was doing.

She felt herself close the door and lock it. Then she sank down, holding her daughter close to her. Doug was staring out the window, his eyes wide and his lips not moving. She felt sorry for him, but a sudden harsh breath made her realize that she had to deal with her own child first.

Rahne's hands were clenched in the fabric of Moira's shirt, her eyes squeezed shut. Moira began to stroke her hair.

"It's okay," Moira said, "It's okay."

Her daughter took another harsh breath. Moira wasn't sure why she wasn't crying: maybe she had already used her tears years ago. She bowed her head and let out a slow breath.

"It's okay sweetheart," she said, "I'm here now."

Rahne hiccupped.

"I love you," she said.

_"I love you Moira. You'll never know how much."_

Moira took in a harsh breath as the memory rocketed through her mind. It was like being stabbed. She increased her grip on Rahne, trying to force past it, force past the feelings of confusion that were welling up inside her.

"Was scared he was gonna hurt you," Rahne murmured.

Moira swallowed, still struggling for her bearings.

"No one can hurt me," she said.

The only one who could had already done his worst. The new memory was making things more confused, more messed-up, but she had no idea how to deal with that.

"Both of you," Moira said, "I want you to know something."

She closed her eyes.

"If anyone ever tries to hurt you, come to me," she said, "I'll take care of them."


	13. Chapter 13

March 9, 1973

Charles looked over the plans one more time. He double checked the amounts and signed off. He could fax the papers in in ten minutes along with the other ones. If all went well, then he could have all of the orders complete that day.

He couldn't help but feel giddy as he picked up another pile of papers. After so much paperwork, so many blueprints, he should have felt less excited. He should have felt tired, God knew he wasn't sleeping very much, but all he could feel was a deep, bright burn.

Logan might have left, but his coming had had the effect of a meteorite striking Charles's world. What had once been barren wasteland had been hit by something out of the sky, changing the world and setting everything aflame.

He'd seen his school thriving. Right now it was years from the vision he'd seen in Logan's mind, but that didn't matter. His school had been filled with young mutants, ready to start their lives and eager for guidance, eager to make the world better. They had been safe there, safe to grow and discover who they were.

It had helped him remember who he'd been, not who he'd become. Charles felt like he was 28 again, but not the 28-year-old who had founded the school. He felt like he had before the beach, before betrayal and pain had rocked his life. He felt like everything he did could really make the world better.

Charles had no illusions. Rebuilding the school was going to be difficult. He still had his money, thank goodness he'd invested the bulk of it during those drunken, miserable years, so funding wouldn't be a problem.

Finding faculty was going to be a fight. There were few mutant teachers in the United States, and fewer still who were comfortable enough with their gifts to live amongst other mutants. Subtract his original staff, many of whom had been drafted, and he'd only found six teachers he could invite to the school.

However, Charles could hold positions for those who would come back from the war. Maybe this time it really would end, and they would come home and want to return to the school. The him of a month ago would have scoffed at this sentiment, but Charles could only smile. It would be good to see some of them again.

Alex was probably looking for a job. He wasn't exactly teacher material, but Charles trusted him. That was enough. He'd written to them, explaining what had happened in Vietnam. Charles would have to keep an eye on Trask from now on. He hadn't failed to glimpse the X-men in Logan's mind. Perhaps it was time to reform them.

That could wait though. He needed to focus on rebuilding the school, and that meant students. There was no shortage of candidates, but he also knew that getting their parents to agree would be an uphill struggle. People weren't particularly fond of boarding schools anymore.

Again, he felt like he could overcome it. He'd done it once before after all. His school could once again be a place of learning, of safety and sanctuary. He could do it, and he wouldn't rest until he'd proved that. He'd do it by himself if he had to.

Not that he did have to. Hank was still with him, still organizing, designing, and making plans. Charles had been thoughtful after Logan had left them, wondering just what he would say to Hank to say him for all of those years he'd spent by his side, refusing to let Charles slip completely into oblivion.

In the end, he had simply thanked Hank, told him that he was never going to let him down like that ever again. He wasn't going to be a secluded, depressed drunkard. he was going to be the Professor. Charles would never let his personal despair drag him down, would never again touch a drop of alcohol. He was officially banning it from the school, and he didn't care if there were any protests from his staff.

Going cold turkey was difficult for him, but Charles's mind was once again strong. It kept him focused when his body shook and vomited, kept him thinking about expense reports and renovations. Hank had stayed with him through that to, getting him aspirin and cold compresses.

He'd been embarrassed, thanking Hank yet again for his dedication. Hank had smiled and shrugged.

"This time around, I'm really helping you get better," he said, "You said you wanted to be a professor again, well, I think I'd like to be a doctor again."

Charles had never felt more proud of Hank, never realized that the shy teen had grown up so well. He had also never realized that, between Cuba and that day on the White House lawn, Hank had somehow become family.

He signed another form and ran his hand through his newly-cropped hair. He'd shaved and had a haircut. His face felt strangely naked, but distinguished professors did not have long, greasy hair or patches of stubble. His 28-year-old self hadn't either.

He looked around his office. It was still a little disorganized, and there was still a mountain of paperwork to do. Things weren't perfect, and neither was he. He'd taken great steps towards getting his life in order, but not all pain could be banished entirely.

Oh yes, there was pain. There would always be pain. His sister was still wandering the world, uncertain, a violent path ahead of her. He doubted that Erik was any less convinced that he had to destroy humans before they destroyed mutants. Erik and Raven hadn't come back to him, hadn't come back to the light.

But he felt like they could. He hadn't after Cuba, not really. He'd certainly hoped for it enough, but he hadn't believed it was a possibility. Now, he felt that if he could be patient, if he could believe in them, that an opportunity would arise. They might never stop causing him pain, but he would never stop fighting for them.

No, the pain would never go away. Charles could accept it though, and let hope flourish deep inside his heart and take him over. Hope had given him a kind of serenity, a serenity he had lost entirely when he'd felt his school slipping away. Logan had given it back. He hoped he met him soon so he could thank him. He wouldn't understand his thanks, but he would in time.

For now, he could only hope for them, keep reaching out to them. That would have to be enough, because there was nothing else he could do. They had made their own choices, and he had to trust that, in the future, they would make the right ones.

There was someone who hadn't made their own choice. He finished his final form and stared at his desk for a moment. Moira had been ghosting through his mind more and more. Not like she had in the past, but still.

He had taken her choice from her. His intentions had been good, but they had been colored by his insecurities after Cuba. He tapped the side of his wheelchair. Charles hadn't thought he'd had anything to offer her except danger, and certainly the CIA had been an ominous cloud.

Even so, he was strong enough now to admit that it had been the wrong decision. He'd let Erik and Raven make their choices because he'd believed that it was the right thing to do, but he'd denied her that right. She'd had the right to choose what she wanted to do, especially after everything that she had done for them, everything she had meant to them. Instead he'd let what she had meant to him, what she represented, get in the way.

What she'd meant to him. Even with his current confidence, did he dare think about it?

It's alright, he thought, Perhaps, perhaps it won't be that bad.

Charles turned away. So much of him screamed at him not to think about it, to keep it locked up. But hadn't his cowardice ruined everything in the first place? Besides, as painful as it was, it was a good memory. Bittersweet, but good.

_"Moira, you don't need to help me this much," Charles said, "I'm not that fragile."_

_Moira sighed as she helped him into bed. Part of him was tired: they'd been making plans for the school all day, and that part didn't want to argue. The other part, the one that seemed to have control of his tongue, still couldn't believe this was happening, that he was dependent on a chair to get across the room. _

_Both halves of him thrummed with embarrassment every time she helped put him to bed, like he was a child._

_"We both know you need help with this," said Moira, her voice firm, "So don't go all macho on me."_

_"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Charles said bitterly. _

_She paused and turned to him._

_"Let's be honest here," he said, "I'm a paraplegic. I'm always going to need some degree of help. So don't sugar-coat it."_

_The words came out sharp and cruel. Moira was still looking at him, her expression almost unchanged. He sighed and began to shift away. She hadn't deserved that. _

_"Goodnight Moira," he said. _

_"Charles-"_

_"Goodnight!"_

_Couldn't he get anything right. There was another pause, and he wondered what she was thinking. He couldn't go inside her head without her permission though. Itwould be wrong, and after everything they been through, everything he felt, it would be unforgiveable. _

_"I don't see you as a paraplegic."_

_He didn't even turn around. _

_"It's what I am."_

_"It's one thing that you are, yes," Moira said quietly, "You're also a kind, intelligent man who's had far too much pain in your life. But...you're stronger than it."_

_Charles did turn then, staring at her. _

_"What-?"_

_"Charles, think about what you're doing," Moira said, sitting on the edge of his bed, "You're starting a school to help mutants not even three months after losing so much. You don't...I know you think you're weak, but you're so strong..."_

_Her voice trailed off, but her eyes never left his face. His eyes locked with hers, and he felt a warmth kindle inside of him. Only Moira would say that to him, would see him as being strong and brave while he floundered. Only her. _

_He reached out for her face, gently cupping her cheek in his hand. He drew himself up and pulled her towards him. Her eyes widened, but she didn't resist, didn't stop him when his lips captured hers and he buried his hands in her hair. _

_Moments blurred and his hands slid from her hair to her back, pulling her down onto his chest. Her lips left his and he expected a hand to gently push him away, to tell him that she didn't want him, because who could?_

_Instead she began to leave a trail of kisses from his lips to his neck. He breathed out, one hand cupping her face and the other sliding down her back. His fingers fumbled when he found the zipper on her dress._

_Moira laughed softly. She moved so that she was fully next to him on the bed. Her hands found their way under his pajama shirt, and the warmth he had felt turned into an inferno. He helped her remove the shirt, shivered despite the burning inside him and closed his eyes when he felt her lips on his chest, just above his heart. _

_He cradled her head in his hands again, relishing the way her skin felt beneath his fingers. His eyes opened and he looked up into her eyes, eyes which were looking at him with such tenderness. After all of the ways that he had failed the people he cared about, what had he done to deserve her? _

_It didn't matter anymore, not that night. All that mattered was that she was here in his arms. The rest could wait. _

_"I love you Moira," he whispered, "You'll never know how much."_

_She smiled softly before her lips descended on his once again. _

He put his hand in front of his mouth and closed his eyes. The memory was years old, but it felt fresh somehow too. He'd been so wrapped up in her that night that he hadn't realized she never said she loved him back. No, that realization hadn't come until a few days later. It had hurt, and with it had come the lingering doubts.

The CIA would come after her as long as she was with them. Moira was a bright woman with a good future ahead of her. She didn't need someone like him weighing her down. She cared for him, yes, but she didn't love him. The more he'd thought that, the more he'd become certain of it. After all, it was easier that way.

He'd seen himself as the only one who would really be hurt by the decision, and Charles had been willing to take that pain on in order for her to gain her freedom. So, two weeks after he told her he loved her, he'd let her go.

He picked up his forms and wheeled over to the fax machine. He could still feel her lips on his, remember the joy he'd felt when he'd woken up and she'd been lying in his arms. He'd loved her, and he'd never given her a chance to tell him if she loved him.

Even if she didn't, what he'd done was cruel. Charles began to fax the forms, his fingers shaking as he typed in the codes. He should have given her more credit, should have trusted her, trusted himself.

There was no point in dwelling on the past though. There was only the future to look forward to. Logan had taught him that. As Charles watched the light of the scanner, he steeled himself. Once the school was rebuilt, he was going to find Moira. He was going to apologize and, maybe, just maybe, she would be willing to forgive him. It was a lot to hope, but he was done giving up hope.

Then, perhaps, one day, he could hold her again.


	14. Chapter 14

March 11, 1973

"What?" Moira said.

The Ramsays looked at her. Doug's father seemed determined, but his wife kept looking nervously around. Moira knew their names, but at the moment she couldn't bring herself to think of them. Not if what they were saying was true.

"It wasn't Rahne's fault," she said.

"We understand that," Doug's father said, "But we didn't know she was a mutant. You failed to mention that."

"Does it matter?" Moira snapped.

"Yes, actually," Doug's father said, "It matters quite a bit."

Disbelief burned inside her chest, coupled by a burning anger.

"I can understand you hitting my brother," Doug's father said, "You've always been very protective of your daughter, and he was pushing his boundaries. We appreciate you not calling the police too. But...well, as I said, we had no idea that Rahne was one of them."

Moira spread her hands on the table, trying to keep under control.

"Rahne is a child," she said.

"Rahne is a mutant, and I don't really want my son around those things," Doug's father said.

Moira looked him in the eye. Doug's father had three different degrees, and Ph.D. She wondered how such a smart man could be so ignorant. He'd worked peacefully amongst colleagues who were pro-mutant, whose work had spoken optimistically about the future of human evolution. He might not know what the center was working for, she'd made sure of that, but still.

She began to wonder if he knew that some of his own co-workers were mutants.

"We've put up with a lot when it comes to Rahne," Doug's father said, "We knew she'd been through some hard times, so we were willing to let the fact that she runs from us or how she always looked at us like we might hurt her. We learned never to question when she refused to come over to the house. These are natural accommodations that anyone would be willing to make."

"But her being a mutant is a stretch too far," Moira said coldly, "That's what you're saying."

Doug's father narrowed his eyes.

"As I said before, no father wants his child around one of those things."

The rage was building, aching to get out. She longed to punch Doug's father in the face, just like she'd punched his brother. They certainly both deserved it. She struggled to keep the urge down, for Rahne's sake. She didn't think that there was any arguing with idiots like the people in front of her, but she had to try.

"Listen," she said, "I know that this was an unpleasant event. But when it comes down to it, Doug and Rahne are both lonely children."

"My son isn't lonely," Doug's father scoffed.

"Mmhmm. Where are his friends?" said Moira, "Where are the other children he plays with? Does he have any pen pals that I don't know about? Does he have any friend at all outside his family?"

Doug's father fell silent.

"My daughter loves me, but Doug is her friend," Moira said, "She would never hurt him. She cares about him too much. Doug and her...they make each other happy. They understand each other. Doug's very smart for his age, different from other children. Rahne has trouble fitting in too. Together they find balance."

Doug's mother was looking at her uncertainly. She softened her tone.

"She just wants to be normal," Moira said, "Have normal friends, have fun, be like other children."

"But she's not a child, is she?" Doug's father said.

Moira pressed her fingers onto the table. She had to do something to distract herself.

"She is a child, a child who needs a friend," said Moira, "Just like your son."

There was a pause. Doug's mother looked at his father, but he shook his head. Moira's heart sank.

"I understand your position, but I'm sorry," he said, "I talked about this for a long time with my brother-"

"The brother who pushed a defenseless child?" Moira demanded.

Rahne had filled her in on the event after she had calmed down. Even though she'd learned that she'd broken his nose by that point, she'd been livid. For a moment Moira had considered pressing charges despite her desire to keep peace with Doug's family, or just punch his uncle in the face again.

She still couldn't decide.

"-and we both decided that this was the best course of action," he said.

Moira applied more pressure on her fingers as she turned to Doug's mother.

"And you?" she asked.

Doug's mother looked down.

"I stand by my husband," she said softly.

Defeat welled up in her. It was obvious Doug's father had made up his mind a long time ago. She thought of her daughter. In a little bit Rahne was going to learn that her best friend, her only friend, wasn't going to be allowed to play with her. Once again, something she was born with was going to determine her life.

"Isn't there anything, anything that I could-?" Moira tried.

"No," said Doug's father, "Not unless your daughter suddenly stops being a mutant, she will never step foot near my son again."

Moira bowed her head. She couldn't even begin to imagine the pain that Rahne was about to go through.

"Alright," she said, "I understand."

"You do?" Doug's father said.

Moira nodded. She had always been taught to acknowledge defeat when presented with it. There was no point in beating a dead horse, a saying that both her father and McCone had been fond of.

She had never been able to take defeat gracefully though.

"Yes," she said, "I understand that Doug deserves better parents than you."

"Excuse me?" Doug's father said.

"You heard me," Moira said, "Your son is more of a man at twelve than you could ever hope to be, because he didn't care that Rahne was a mutant, didn't care where she came from. All he cared about was that she was who she was."

Doug's father gave her a cold look, but he wasn't going to get a chance to speak. He'd forfeited that.

"You two are some of the worst people I've ever seen, and I've seen some doozies," Moira said, "You listened to a man who was a bully over what you knew to be right. I hope you're damned happy about the example you're setting for your son."

She took her hands off the table, holding her head high despite the glare she was getting from Doug's father.

"You don't get to comment on our parenting skills," Doug's father snapped.

"That's all you have to say?" asked Moira, "All those degrees, and that's the only argument you have? Makes me glad I got my bachelor's and scrammed."

She got up her hands clenched into fists by her side.

"You know what, I'm feeling better about my decision by the second," Doug's father said, "Just make sure your daughter stays away from my son."

"Not a problem," Moira said, "Freak."

His face began to turn red.

"See?" she said, "Hurts, doesn't it? That's what your brother did to my daughter. What you're doing to her now."

"You need to leave," he said.

She drew her lips into a thin line.

"No, actually, I don't," she said, "But you did remind me of something. Your lease expires in two months. When it does, well, like I said to your brother, get the hell off my property."

"What?" Doug's father said.

"You heard me," Moira snapped, "Your brother attacked my daughter. I didn't call the police on him out of respect for you, out of the knowledge that I'd broken his nose anyway. That was enough."

She curled her lip.

"I let you stay because I thought you were different," she said, "But I can't risk my daughter's safety by having people like you on the Island."

She couldn't risk the project she was creating either. Not when she ran the risk of any future students having to endure the nightmare her daughter had. She was supposed to be creating a safe place for her, not a place where she'd have to face this kind of hate.

"Just because-"

"Because you called my daughter a thing to my face?" asked Moira, "How did you not think that I would be offended? That I would realize that you were just like your brother?"

She shook her head.

"Don't look so depressed: you should be happy," she sneered, "This way there's no chance your son will have contact with my daughter. I'm actually sorry for that, but it was your decision. And, like I said, I don't want your stupid to rub off on me."

She walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. She walked back towards her house, her heart still burning with anger. When she had left the CIA, she had done so quietly, telling McCone that she couldn't continue to work in a place that obviously didn't trust her anymore, a place where loyalty had meant nothing. She had done so without any drama, without any fuss.

The minute her daughter had come into the conversation, all she wanted was to let Doug's parents know exactly what they were doing. She felt sorry for Doug, but she wasn't going to let those people stay on her property any longer than she had to. It wasn't good for Muir Island, and it wasn't good for Rahne.

As her anger cooled she thought of her daughter again. Poor, sweet Rahne. She was going to be heartbroken. She cared so much about Doug, and now she was going to have to tell her that she could never see him again.

Moira opened the fence and walked towards the door. As she did, she saw that it was already open. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she hurried inside. A million possibilities raced through her head: a burglar, a murderer, those men who had hunted Rahne that night on the hills.

She rushed into the living room, just as a keening sound reached her ears. Doug was in the living room, Rahne across from him. Rahne had sank to the floor, tears rolling down her eyes, and that horrible noise coming from her throat.

"Rahne, please don't cry. I don't want to," Doug pleaded, "Rahne, it's not my choice. You're still my friend, I still-"

Rahne loped past, using her hands to help her scramble away. Doug looked after her as she ran past Moira, clambering up the stairs. Moira looked helplessly after her daughter, cursing Phillip and the cowardice of Doug's parents.

Doug. She looked at the boy. His eyes were rimmed with red and, when he spoke, his voice was raw.

"My mom and dad...they told me this morning that I couldn't...I couldn't..." he whispered.

"I know," Moira said.

He looked up at her, miserable.

"I told them she was my friend," he said, "I wanna...I wanna..."

"I know that too," said Moira.

Doug was crying earnestly now.

"So I came out when they were talking to you to tell her...but...but..."

He wiped his tears away furiously, but they kept coming. Moira knelt down. Her mind was still on her daughter, but she couldn't leave Doug like this. Besides, she had a feeling that Rahne wanted a few minutes alone.

"I hate them," Doug whispered, "I hate them so much."

Moira ran a hand through her hair.

"Doug, your parents are going to be leaving the Island in a few months," she said.

Doug bit his lip and looked down.

"What happened isn't your fault. I don't want you to ever think it is," Moira said, "But I do want you to remember something from what's happened."

His eyes flickered upwards.

"Remember what you're feeling now, how you think it's cruel and unfair," said Moira, "I want you to remember that you don't see any reason why Rahne should be treated differently just because she is different."

Her voice caught.

"And remember that Rahne cares about you," Moira said, "She's very upset right now, but that's only because she can't stand the thought that she won't be able to see you again. I don't think she'll ever have another friend quite like you."

"I know I'll never have a friend like her," whispered Doug.

Moira sighed and put her hand on Doug's shoulder.

"You have a good heart," she said.

Doug didn't say anything. He just looked up the stairs at where Rahne had disappeared. Moira followed his gaze.

"I have to go to her," she said, "You should...you should probably go home."

Doug nodded, but continued to look up the stairs. Moira got up, and Doug seemed to melt, tired, defeated. He walked towards the door and Moira walked up the stairs, her feet leaden and her heart heavy.

She reached Rahne's room soon and opened the door. Rahne was curled up on the floor, crying quietly. When she saw Moira she pushed herself up. Moira sank down to her knees and Rahne ran into her arms, still crying.

Moira held her close, stroking her hair, and rocking her as Rhane wept. Perhaps she hadn't cried when Phillip had been cruel to her because she was saving her tears for that night.

"It's going to be alright sweetheart," she whispered, "I promise."


	15. Chapter 15

July 20, 1973

Charles cradled the phone in his neck. Across from him Hank was filling out the food requests they were going to need for the next few months. It was cheaper to order in bulk, as they'd learned the hard way.

Not that money had ever been a problem. At least he'd kept his money in bonds and some other wise investments while he languished. Although there had been times when he'd hated his upbringing, at least something good had come out of it.

Now it was almost done. They were going to open in the winter with fifty students. It wasn't as early as he'd like, but it was enough that he was getting it off the ground. Most of the students were returning ones. The same went for the staff. Many of them had been looking for jobs with the war's end.

There was just one phone call left to make. The phone clicked and Charles smiled.

"Sam Guthrie. How's it goin?"

"It's going fine Sam," Charles said.

"Charles?" asked Sam.

He sounded excited, not bitter or resentful. That was a good sign.

"I'm afraid so," said Charles.

"Well whaddaya know," he said, "I haven't heard from ya in ages."

"You weren't exactly easy to track down," Charles said.

It was true. Sam might not know about his extra edge, but Cerebro had been out of commission for a while. Cerebro had taken a great deal of damage after he'd used it to find Raven, and Charles had had to resort to more conventional means to find his former employees.

"If I'm not mistaken, this is a European number," said Charles.

"Yeah," Sam said, "Jobs weren't thick on the ground after the war."

"I'd actually like to talk to you about that," said Charles, "I'm reopening the school."

He heard Sam gasp.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"Yes," Charles said, "And I was hoping that I could have my old English teacher back."

From the tone that Sam had been taking, Charles had been expecting an enthusiastic yes. Instead he was given silence.

"Same?" he asked.

"Charles...aw...I'd love ta," he said, "But...I'm sorry, I can't."

"Oh," Charles said.

He couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice. Sam had been one of their best faculty members.

"I just...Charles, I got a job over here," he said.

"No, I understand," Charles said.

"Nah, nah ya don't," said Sam "If it were any other job I'd ditch it in a heartbeat except..."

Charles frowned.

"It's alright. You don't need to make excuses," he said.

"Nah," Sam said, his voice still rushed, "Charles, ya don't understand. It's another school for mutants."

Charles sat up straighter. He could feel a spark of excitement growing inside of him.

"Really?" he asked.

"Well, more of a hospital," said Sam, "Not much money in it, but they're givin it a good go."

He heard Sam shift the phone.

"Most o the money comes from research grants an stuff, so they have ta do a lot of research ta keep it up," he said, "But it's gonna be opening up soon, an they wanted an education wing, ya know? The Director didn't ask me many questions, which is good, since I didn't wanna tell them bout your place. But..."

Sam sighed. There was a wistful note in it, but Charles's mind was already racing. Someone had had the same idea as him. Someone else had wanted to help mutants, to give them a safe place to live and learn.

He'd been such a fool all those years. If anything, this proved that he should have had more faith in the world after all.

"It's just a small start-up, an I feel like I need ta help it along," he said.

"No," Charles said, "If I had to lose you to anything, I'm glad it was to this."

He leaned back and saw that Hank was looking at him curiously. Charles could barely contain his excitement.

"I'm glad ya understand," he said.

"Of course I do," Charles said, "But...if you ever find yourself stateside again..."

"First stop," agreed Sam.

"Take care of yourself," Charles said.

"Ya too."

Charles hung up the phone and looked over at Hank.

"Sam's not in?" Hank asked.

"No," Charles said, happily wheeling himself from behind the desk, "He found a job at another school: teaching mutants."

Hank frowned.

"There's another school for mutants?" he asked.

"More of a hospital, but it sounds like it has both elements," Charles said, "Hank, do you know what this means?"

His friend put down his forms and looked at him.

"Other than we need to find a new English teacher?" he asked.

"It means that there are other people out there like us!" Charles said, giddy, "Other people who genuinely want to make a difference, who want to make things better. They don't even have our advantages, and they're fighting for the same things as us."

He clapped his hands together, feeling like a child.

"Take that Erik!" he laughed.

From his position on the floor, he saw Hank smile.

"I should've asked him for more details," Charles said, "I need to call him back some time, ask him some questions. We could coordinate some sort of program: teams are stronger than individuals. Perhaps they need funds. I could call their director, I'd have to ask Sam for a number. You know, I was so shocked I didn't even ask for a name-"

"Okay, Charles," Hank said, getting to his feet, "That sounds great."

"It does, doesn't it?" asked Charles, "I wonder how many students-"

"Charles," said Hank, shaking his head, "Small steps, okay? I know you're excited, but we haven't even reopened our school, and now we're missing an English teacher."

"Oh no, don't worry about that," Charles said.

Hank gave him a confused look.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Well," Charles said, "Alex got accredited before he got drafted, remember?"

Hank groaned.

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts," said Charles, wheeling behind his desk, "I'll give him a call. I was going to ask him to visit, but staff is better."

He smiled.

"It will be nice to have everyone together again," he said.

A treacherous voice told him that, no, not everyone would be back. He shoved it away. He knew he could get Alex to come back, and as a teacher no less. It was a far cry from the boy he'd met in a jail cell, but he was sure that he would enjoy it. Alex had studied for it after all.

Maybe that meant that he could get them to all come back. He wasn't sure how much hope he had for his friend and sister, but he had other hopes too. Hopes of a love he had once pushed away, of a future.

Still feeling giddy, he picked up the phone.

* * *

><p>"Who were you talking to?" Moira asked.<p>

Sam shrugged and hung up the phone.

"Old friend," he said, "So, did ya get the desks?"

"We're getting them shipped Friday," Moira said, "We'll be all set to start on August 15."

Sam grinned, and Moira had to grin back. She'd only been able to find two teachers, but Sam was willing to take the pay cut and work with mutants. He was a mutant himself, so she supposed that he understood why this was so important.

"Is the number still twenty-five?" asked Sam, "I just wanna make sure."

"Still twenty-five," Moira agreed.

It was all that they could track down, and it was just as well. They really couldn't take any more. However, they were the ones that needed it most. Most of those students were mutants with a mutation that had left them worse than they had found them. Some needed special equipment just to move by themselves, and she had the feeling that more than one of those students would come to the school scared out of their minds.

Moira wasn't daunted by that thought. She would just have to show them that they didn't have to be scared anymore. She'd had experience.

"Anyway," Sam said, "I'd best get back ta work. I still hafta figure out some good first quarter reading."

"Alright," Moira said, "Get to it Sam."

He grinned at her again and then headed out. Moira walked the rest of the way to her office. It was strange to think of it as an office again, but she had permanently moved in and dropped all pretext of the center being anything other than it was when the Ramsays left.

With them gone, it was only the staff that she had picked working for her. Several of them were humans, but several also had relatives who were mutants. It was the reason why many of them had gotten into genetics into the first place. They had been trying to help their nieces and nephews who had grown up with scales but no gills, skin that would crack and peel, or inverted and unbalanced limbs.

She opened the door to her office. Rahne was sitting in a corner, reading her Bible quietly. Now that Moira was in the center more, she would bring Rahne in with her. Her daughter had become meeker after Doug had left, and Moira often wondered how many times Rahne's mind strayed to her only friend.

Moira sat down next to Rahne. Her daughter put the Bible away and looked up at her with bright eyes.

"We're almost there Rahne," she said, "In a few months, there's going to be a lot of other children on the island."

"Children like me," Rahne said.

"That's right," said Moira.

She'd told Rahne of her plan once Doug had gone. Moira had even told her that she'd known some people who had wanted to start a school, how she'd met her first mutant. There had been some things that she had left out, of course she had, but Rahne had been fascinated by the story. She'd hoped that the knowledge would cheer her, although she knew that nothing would fully compensate her for the loss of her first friend.

"They might be shy and scared when they come here though," Moira said, "It's going to be difficult for them."

"Like it was for me?" asked Rahne.

No. Moira doubted that any of the children had been hunted, been forced to turn into animals to keep themselves alive. None of them had had to live on the streets, had forgotten the English language as they struggled to survive.

But she simply smiled and kissed the top of Rahne's head.

"Sort of," she said, "So we'll have to be patient. But there's a lot they could teach you. A lot you could teach them."

Rahne nodded instead of answering and snuggled closer into Moira's side. She knew that Rahne was reluctant to accept the idea of more friends. Did she feel that she was betraying Doug somehow, getting new friends?

Or maybe she was just afraid. She'd opened herself up, and she had gotten a broken heart. Moira knew that it was enough to caution a soul for the rest of their life.

_"I love you Moira. You'll never know how much."_

The thought was still painful. He'd loved her but sent her away? It would have been easy to assume that he hadn't meant it, but the words weren't all that she remembered. As time went by Moira remembered being convinced, of knowing that she was loved by a good man.

Perhaps it didn't matter though. Moira closed her eyes and leaned her head so that it rested on top of Rahne's. She had her daughter, her center, her plans for the future, and that was enough. It was time to look to the future.

Whatever emotions she had once felt, whatever their relationship had been, perhaps it was time to let go of Charles Xavier too.


	16. Chapter 16

August 17, 1973

Moira had expected the first day of school to be tough. In most cases, children had enough trouble saying goodbye to their families when situations were good and the child would quickly be accepted into the fabric of society.

This was different. Children were being separated from their parents, parents whom they had depended on for support and, in many cases, protection. They were saying goodbye to their brothers and sisters, in many cases their only playmates and friends.

So Moira had gotten the teachers and the doctors together and given them a talk, although she doubted that many of them needed to be reminded how difficult things were going to be. Most of them were humans though, and while several had mutant relatives, a reminder was a good way to make sure that there weren't any mishaps.

She'd also had a word with Rahne. As the day approached her daughter had gotten increasingly nervous at the prospect of other children coming to the island. Rahne had abruptly told Moira that she would prefer it if she could stay in her room until they all went away.

It had taken her days for Moira to explain to Rahne that these children were just like her, that there would be no chance that their parents would take them away because they didn't like what she was. She had told her that it would be good for her to talk to other children, to learn about her mutation.

Rahne always looked at her with doubt when she tried to explain this. Again, Moira couldn't really blame her. Not after her early life, not after Doug. However, she had received a promise that her daughter would try.

So, with that in mind, she had set forth to do the best she could with the school, to make things seem fun when she knew they would appear frightening and rally the staff. She had greeted each family personally, let them know that their child would receive the best care.

She hadn't expected the case in front of her though. The child was arriving with his foster family, and he was one of their younger ones. He was the last one to set foot on the island, and Moira saw immediately why that was.

Kurt Wagner was being held hostage.

"Nein!" the little girl screamed.

She grabbed onto Kurt's arm and planted her feet into the ground, giving the woman that Moira assumed was her mother a stubborn look. Margali, if Moira remembered the name right, gave Moira an apologetic smile.

Her oldest son, Stefan she thought, was rubbing his neck and trying not to look at the scene in front of him. He was about fourteen, certainly old enough to be embarrassed by his little sister.

Margali gave her another apologetic smile, and then she turned to her daughter, her eyes hard and fierce. The girl stared back at her mother with equal fervor, even though Moira figured she couldn't have been more than ten.

"Amanda, we have spoken about this," Margali said.

"Nein," Amanda declared.

She looked over at Kurt. Kurt swished his tail and blinked his golden eyes at her.

"You won't go, vill you?" asked Amanda.

"Not if you do not vant it," Kurt said.

"I don't, and it's settled," said Amanda.

"Nein, it is not!" Margali snapped.

She flashed another apologetic smile to Moira before kneeling down on the ground. Amanda stuck out her lower lip, shaking her head and jingling the coins on a scarf she had tied around her head. The rest of her golden curls were flowing freely down her back.

"I do not vant to listen," she said.

"I see this," Margali sighed.

She rested her hands on her knees.

"Amanda, mein liebling," said Margali, her voice coming out through gritted teeth, "You remember what you saw on the television from the United States, ja?"

"Ja," Amanda muttered.

"You saw Magneto?"

"Ja."

Moira felt an unconscious shudder ripple through her. She thought back to when they had dredged Erik out of the water and she had held out her hand to help him onto the boat. He'd shrugged it off, glaring at her.

At least then he'd been suspicious of her for something rational.

"People are fools," Margali said, "They will think Kurt is like him."

"But I am not," said Kurt, confused.

"Ja, this I know, but they will not," Margali said.

"But mama, that is so dumb," said Amanda, "He looks more like the blue lady, the one who saved president."

Actually he did. It had been a bit of a shock seeing him. Moira wondered if he had a secondary mutation, one that was similar to Raven's. To say that he looked like Charles's sister would be an understatement. The resemblance was uncanny.

The resemblance between him and Azazel was uncanny too actually, now that she thought of it. The thought made her frown.

"So?" said Margali, "Some people will never see vhat is beyond zeir own two eyes."

She shook her head.

"Amanda, if you vant Kurt to be safe, you will let him go," she said.

Amanda's eyes filled with tears and she turned to look at Kurt. He blinked owlishly at her, and then she threw her arms around him in a hug.

"Nein," she said.

Margali set her jaw.

"Come on Amanda," Stefan said, "They're not gonna starve him or anything-"

"Traitor!" Amanda yelled, shaking her head and jingling the coins again, "You lied! You said we were going on boat ride to see Loch Ness monster!"

Margali shot him a look. Stefan threw his hands up in the air.

"She wouldn't get on otherwise!" he said.

Margali rubbed her head and looked at Kurt. His eyes were peeking over the mass of Amanda's golden curls.

"Kurt," she said, "Do not be stubborn like my daughter."

Kurt didn't answer. It was clear that he wanted to obey Margali, but he took one look at Amanda and hugged her back. His tail even wrapped around her forearm.

A nerve in Margali's forehead twitched. She began speaking in rapid fire German, so much and so fast that Moira couldn't understand. She did understand Amanda's vehement 'nein' though, so she figured the subject hadn't changed.

Margali drew back. Moira thought that she was about to bodily attempt to separate the two of them. It was clear that Margali wasn't unsympathetic: she just understood the dangers much more than the children did.

However, she didn't want Kurt's first memory of Muir Island to be getting dragged away from the person he cared most about.

"Amanda?" Moira said.

Amanda turned and looked suspiciously at her. Moira smiled and knelt down, trying to keep her distance from the pair. She wasn't going to have them feel threatened.

"Hey," she said, "I know you care about Kurt-"

"Ja, and you cannot have," Amanda said.

Kurt grinned at her, showing all of his fangs.

"If ve run away und marry zen it vill be illegal for people to take me," he suggested.

Stefan groaned.

"Not this again…" he said.

Amanda turned to Kurt.

"Gut plan," she said.

She glanced over at Moira, her gaze still stubborn and defiant.

Moira smiled, cocking her head.

"Alright," she said.

"Alright?" Amanda said.

"Excuse me?" demanded Margali.

Moira made a small movement with her hand and Margali frowned, but she fell silent.

"Listen, Amanda," she said, "Let's make a deal."

Amanda gave her another suspicious look.

"I'm going to show all of you around," she said, "And if, by the end of the day, you don't think that Kurt will be happy here, you can take him back."

"Promise?" asked Amanda.

"I swear," Moira said.

Amanda slowly loosened her grip on Kurt, but she continued to clutch his hand. Moira got up and saw that Margali was looking at her with a mixture of dismay and respect, probably hoping that Moira had some sort of special trick to pull.

Moira hoped she did too.

"Okay," she said, "Let's get started."

She decided to start out with showing them around the fun places: the garden, the toy room, the classroom, and the cafeteria. Amanda probably wouldn't be too impressed by the hospital section. It might even scare her.

However, Moira could quickly see that, although Amanda was wavering, she was unlikely to give in any time soon. She took one look at a room and then turned her nose up at it, obviously not pleased with what she saw. Her eyes began to stray to the rooms and back to Kurt, obviously thinking that all of the things Kurt would get were a poor substitute for her.

The last room she could think of was the library, and she wondered just what she would do after that. Moira could already see that Margali was getting ready to dig her feet in for another battle.

She opened the door to the library and she immediately heard a scampering noise. Moira looked over and saw Rahne clutching a book to her chest and looking at them with wide eyes.

"Hey," Moira said.

She made a gesture and Rahne put the book down. She chewed on her lip and looked at Kurt and the Szardoses in fear and Moira swallowed. It was too many people too fast, without any warning.

"Don't worry Rahne," Moira said, "They're just here for the school."

Rahne got up, hesitantly padding over. She continued to walk with her knees bent slightly, her hands moving down as if she would use them to hasten her retreat at any minute. She was scared, and she was reverting.

"Rahne," Moira said softly.

Her daughter stood up straight and walked to Moira's side. She licked her lips and moved slightly behind Moira's leg.

"This is my daughter Rahne," said Moira, "Rahne, this is the Szardos family, and Kurt Wagner."

"Hi," Rahne mumbled.

"Guten tag," said Kurt.

Rahne scrunched up her nose.

"Guten what?" asked Rahne.

"It means hi," Moira explained.

Amanda peered at her.

"Are you mutant?" she asked.

Rahne started. Margali made a face and moved forwards.

"Amanda, that is not polite!" she said.

"It's just a question," asked Amanda.

She turned to Rahne.

"I am being told there are mutants here, but I have not seen any," Amanda declared, "My mama, she says it will be safe for mein Kurt because there are other mutants, but this I do not believe. I have not seen anyone who looks like Kurt."

Moira couldn't believe it. Had that been what Amanda was looking for? Now that she thought about it, all of the rooms that she had shown the family were empty. If she had taken them to the dorms then Amanda would have had her pick, but she'd taken them to rooms that were going to be filled later, rooms that Kurt would be using.

Good grief, why hadn't she just asked Amanda about her criteria?

"I am," Rahne said, her voice small.

Amanda looked at her, obviously expecting something. Kurt was looking at her too, curiosity and hope warring in his eyes. It took her a minute, but then she realized that they wanted Rahne to prove it.

Moira put her hand on Rahne's shoulder. She could see her daughter was frightened and confused, but she couldn't hide forever, especially when there wasn't anything to hide from.

"Rahne," Moira said, "It's okay. I'm here."

Rahne looked up at her, her lower lip trembling. Moria wondered if she was pushing her too much, if she should just take her up to her room. Maybe Rahne wasn't ready for this. Maybe Rahne wasn't even ready for the school.

Then, slowly, Moira saw fur begin to grow on Rahne's face. Her face lengthened into a snout and her eyes flickered yellow. Two fuzzy, canine ears morphed out of her head, and a tail brushed the floor.

Margali and Stefan blinked slowly, but Amanda grinned. Kurt laughed and clapped his hands.

"Vunderbar!" Kurt said.

Rahne quickly changed back and gripped Moira's pant leg. At least this problem was easy to identify.

"It means wonderful," Moira said.

Her daughter loosened her grip on Moira's leg and looked at Amanda and Kurt. She smiled tentatively, but even as her smile grew Amanda's began to disappear. She turned to Kurt, her lower lip trembling.

"Kurt…maybe this is gut place for you."

Kurt's eyes widened.

"But…I do not vant to go vithout you," he said.

Amanda looked up hopefully at her mother, but Margali shook her head.

"Ve need you for ze act," she said.

Amanda nodded once and began to untie her hair scarf. She wrapped it around Kurt's neck and put her hands on her shoulders.

"I vill vrite to you efery day," she said.

Kurt's eyes began to water and Amanda turned to Rahne. Amanda sniffed, but kept her back straight.

"You must be friends vith him," she said.

Rahne gaped.

"Why me?" she asked.

"Because you are vunderbar," Amanda stated, her voice breaking but brokering no argument, "He said so, and mein Kurt does not lie."

She turned around, probably ready to stoically tell Kurt goodbye, but he threw his arms around her and, soon, the two were crying. Margali wiped her own eyes before putting a hand on Amanda's shoulder.

"Now now Amanda," she said, "Muir Island is gut for Kurt. And do not vorry: you shall receive education all your own soon."

Moira wasn't really listening though. She was looking down at her daughter, who was staring at her hands.

"Vunderbar," she muttered in awe.

And Moira knew that she had made the right decision.


	17. Chapter 17

August 23, 1973

Rahne wasn't sure why Kurt liked her. Sure, he'd called her vunderbar and all, but she figured that was over her mutation. He was interested in everything about Muir Island, and someone had told him that Rahne had grown up there. Probably her mom, trying to be nice.

It meant that he kept peppering her with questions though, and they made her a little anxious. Kurt didn't know the meaning of silence, but he also liked answers. It made her miss Doug terribly, because he knew what she was saying with her silence. Kurt didn't.

It wasn't Kurt's fault, but it was a fact. She looked down at her hands from time to time, wondering what Kurt would do if she just stopped talking to him all together. It wouldn't be because she didn't like him, but because she figured that he would probably be better off making friends with some of the other kids.

Most of the other kids were looking around uncomfortably. School had only started a few days ago, and they were unsure about the island. The furthest they had gone had been the playground, and Rahne had seen a few play tag. She'd actually gone upstairs and cried after that.

She still didn't understand why her mom wanted to share the island. Sharing was a good thing to do, but Rahne had liked it just fine when it was just the two of them, no one else added. She was more comfortable with that, and she had no idea why her mom had insisted on this.

Still, her mom was smarter than her, so she had to trust her. So she attended classes and read books and explored the different halls. She hung around Kurt, waiting for him to get tired of her, for something, anything, to happen to derail the current course of events.

But Kurt didn't get tired of her. He looked confused, but not tired. Rahne hated that he kept looking at her with that slightly puzzled look, but that he didn't give up. It was frustrating, and she wondered if she could ask her mom to ask him to stop.

Right before they went out for recess, Kurt blocked her before she went out the door. Rahne frowned at him.

"Move," she said.

"Why do you not like me?" Kurt asked.

Rahne looked at the floor.

"I don't not like you," she said.

She had to bite her lip to keep from crying. She'd told Doug that too.

"But you do not like me eizer," Kurt said, "Zere ist difference."

"Why do you wanna be friends?" said Rahne, feeling tired, "You don't know me."

Kurt stuck out his lip.

"Mein Amanda told me you vould be good friend," he said, "I beliefe her."

"She didn't know me either," Rahne muttered.

"But she ist gut judge of person," Kurt said, "But you do not vant to be friends. Vhy?"

Rahne bit her lip and dug her toes into the ground. She could already feel herself crouching down and curling up.

"I had a friend," Rahne said, "When his parents found out I was a mutant, they didn't want him to play with me any more."

She risked a look up. Kurt blinked at her.

"I am mutant, und mein guardians know zis," he said, "Zat vill not happen."

Rahne shook her head. He didn't get it. He probably wouldn't get it after she explained, but she had to try.

"I miss him," she said.

It was the closest she could come to explaining how she felt, why she couldn't be friends with anyone else. She waited and, realizing that Kurt didn't understand her, couldn't understand her, she sighed.

"I miss mein Amanda," Kurt said.

She looked up. His voice was sad and thick.

"But she vanted me to have friends," Kurt said, "Und you are vunderbar, so I zhought zat maybe ve could be friends."

Tears began to flood Rahne's eyes. He did understand.

"Besides, I zink zat God vants us to have friends," Kurt said, "Two are better zan vone, because zey have a good return for zeir vork. If vone fallz down, his friend can help him up."

Rhane couldn't help but give a little gasp.

"But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up," she said.

Kurt's golden eyes flashed.

"You read?" he asked.

"You too?" Rahne asked.

"Ja. Very often," said Kurt, "See? Mein Amanda ist gut at zese zings!"

He looked at her hopefully. Rahne hesitated for another minute. Should she do this, let herself be open to the pain? Would it be a betrayal of her first friend, a friend who had never wanted to leave her in the first place?

But hadn't her mom told her to make friends? Like Kurt's Amanda, her mom was very good at these things.

"Yeah," she said.

She scuffed the ground with her foot.

"Wanna go and play?" she asked.

"Ja."

* * *

><p>Alex looked around at the foyer of Westchester. Hank and the Professor were in there somewhere, but he wanted to have a moment by himself before he met them. He breathed in the pine, the scuffed up but clean floors, and he felt a little knot begin to relax inside of him.<p>

There was still a huge, gnarly knot though, and he hated it. Alex hated the feeling of waking up at 2 a.m. with a nightmare, of seeing some of the scars on his arms. He hated feeling like a member of the walking wounded.

But here, in Westchester, all those years seemed far away. Ever since his family had died, Westchester had been the only real safe place that he had ever known, filled with people who accepted him. He supposed that, when it started to disintegrate, getting drafted had seemed like a good idea.

Of course, it had been a terrible idea. Alex cracked his neck. He'd fancied himself tough, fancied himself fast and strong, the kind of person who could fight anyone and anything and then come out swinging. Vietnam had taught him just how stupid he'd been.

Alex knew that his experiences had made him stronger, faster, a better fighter. That had come at a price though. He'd thought that losing Sean was the worst day of his life before he went in. He'd been wrong about that too.

He should've humbled himself and asked Charles for his help. He shouldn't have been so proud, thinking of his Air Force father and a legacy. He acknowledged it now, but there was no changing the past. Raven, or Mystique, had been an unlikely ally, and he was forever grateful for her interference. If not, then he was sure he'd be dead or vivisected by now.

At least he was back where he belonged, where he should have stayed. He grinned and dropped his duffel bag loudly on the floor. He cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Hey, geeks!" he yelled, "I'm back!"

He didn't have to wait long. Hank came in from one of the side doors, wincing.

"Alex, don't be so loud," he said, "You know I have sensitive hearing."

"Why do you think I did it?" Alex asked.

Hank snarled at him and Alex laughed.

"Chill Hank," he said.

He held out his hand.

"It's good to see you again," he said.

Hank's face softened slightly. He reached out and grasped Alex's arm, his hand gripping somewhere around the elbow.

"Good to see you too," Hank said.

Alex grinned and let go.

"So, where's the Professor?" he asked, "I'm rearing to start work. Any of the other staff here yet?"

"Alex, you know that we're not going to start until next fall," Hank said, "I'm actually surprised you got here so early."

"Lease expired," said Alex, grabbing his bag, "Besides, it gets boring sometimes, taking odd jobs and stuff. If I have to put together one more hamburger, I swear I was gonna kill somebody."

Hank frowned.

"But...you got a degree in teaching English," he said.

Alex paused. He shifted his pack on his shoulder, debating for a moment. What the hell.

"Hank, I got a degree so that I could teach here," said Alex, "I didn't actually want to teach anywhere but here."

There was an awkward pause. Alex flashed a grin, suddenly feeling rather awkward himself. No wonder he had never opened up in the past. It lead to silences like these. Probably led to people like the boy he'd been making fun of him.

At least he was trying not to be that boy anymore. Life was too short to be a dick to everyone all the time, but he was pretty sure that he could get away with a minimal level of dickishness. He was, after all, going to be an English teacher.

"But don't go telling the Professor," he said, "I don't want him to get all mushy on me."

"Right," Hank said.

"And don't you get all mushy or anything either," warned Alex.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said.

He made a gesture towards the hallway that he'd come out of.

"Come on,' he said, "The Professor's waiting."

Alex grinned in response and followed his friend up the stairs and down the hall. It was a familiar trek, but one that seemed to belong to another life. Well, it was going to be his life again. He was going to make a fresh start, doing what he'd wanted to do when he was younger and the world was less frightening.

The door to the Professor's office was open, but all Alex heard was the clacking of typewriter keys.

"Does he know I'm here?" he asked.

Hank made a face.

"He should," he said, "You yelled loud enough to wake the dead."

"Gee, thanks."

"Seriously though," Hank said, "I um...guess he's just really absorbed."

Alex raised his eyebrows, but let the matter drop. It wouldn't be the first time that the Professor would get lost in his thoughts, a place that was far from accessible to anyone else, leaving them all far behind.

He walked in. Papers were tossed around, and he saw that there was a map on the wall with different pins stuck in it. Alex noted a particular grouping of them on a small island off the coast of Scotland, for whatever reason that was.

The Professor looked up when they entered, his entire face lighting up. Alex couldn't help but be surprised. When he'd left the Professor had been dark and pensive, even a little depressed, as his school started to slip from his fingers.

The man behind the desk was giddy though, almost like a child at Christmas. He wheeled out from behind his desk, his eyes shining with excitement. Alex dropped his duffel bag and reached out, shaking the Professor's hand when he got close enough.

"Good to see you Professor," he said.

"Please, Charles," the Professor said, "We're all in this together now."

Alex grinned, but he saw the Professor wince, one of his hands going to his head.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Oh no, no," said Charles, "Everything's fine, perfectly fine."

"Uh huh," Alex said.

Charles gave him a sheepish look.

"Perhaps I'm a little tired," he said, "I stayed up all night last night."

"I told him not to," Hank said.

"Yes, Hank has been very protective," laughed Charles, "But what else could I do?"

He gestured around his room.

"We have an awful lot of work to do to make things better," he said.

There was something in Charles's tone, some inflection, some emphasis, that made Alex think that he was talking about more than just the school. However, Charles wasn't the only one who wanted to make things better.

So, with the same duality, Alex nodded.

"Sure do," he said.


	18. Chapter 18

October 23, 1973

"So, I think that it would be a good idea if we started out with some of the basics, like Harper Lee," Alex said, "Then we can do some S.E. Hinton."

Alex dropped the books on Charles's desk. Charles picked one up and looked it over.

"Where did you get these?" he asked.

"There's a store in town where I can get a lot of 'em for cheap," Alex said, "Wouldn't break the budget."

"Isn't that a little radical for a core curriculum?" said Hank.

"Hey, furball, you wanna teach this class?" Alex asked.

"No fighting," Charles said mildly.

Despite his words, he was excited. It was almost like old times with the two of them sniping back and forth at each other. If he closed his eyes he could almost pretend that it was the old times, times before everything had gone so very, very wrong.

The key word was almost. There were several painful reminders that things weren't like they had been. Sean was gone, a marker in his hometown cemetery but his body only God knew where. The Cassidy wing now bore his name, but for a reason they could never tell any of his students.

And Moira. Moira wasn't there either. At least that was something he could fix.

"Why S.E. Hinton?" Charles asked, "Why is that particular story important?"

"Because it doesn't have a happy ending," said Alex, "I'm sick of all these stories that tie everything up in a neat little package."

"Um, correction. I don't know what book you read, _To Kill A Mockingbird _does not have a happy ending," Hank said.

"Yes it does."

"No it doesn't."

"Actually, I've always agreed with Hank on that one," Charles said, "Alex, what's your rationale?"

Alex crossed his arms and jutted out his chin. At times like these it was easy to remember that he'd both done time and been part of the military.

"Look," he said, "At the end of _To Kill A Mockingbird_, Scout goes off all filled with hope and fuzzy feelings for a new future, a future where she and Jem and stuff understand the difference between monsters and men-"

"At the cost of childhood innocence," Hank said.

"Cost schmost," said Alex, "The point is the book ends on a note of hope, and that's practically the same thing as a happy ending."

Charles paused, tapping his pen on his desk.

"No it isn't," Hank said.

"Again, yes it is," Alex said, "It says that no matter how bad things get, things get better if you just look at things differently. That's a happy ending to me because it isn't exactly an ending. It's looking to the future, which is the same as saying that I think that things are gonna be alright."

"Charles, you don't buy this do you?" said Hank.

Charles leaned back thoughtfully. His head was hurting now for some reason, but for several nights in a row he hadn't had much sleep the night before. Maybe there was some aspirin in his desk that he could take once Hank and Alex left.

He'd always thought of the end of the book as being sad but sweet. However, an ending with hope. He'd never heard it phrased that way before.

"A few years ago I wouldn't have," he admitted, "But…I might be with Alex on this one."

Alex threw his hands up, and Charles again saw the boy that he'd been.

"Ha, I'm smarter than you this time!"

"Okay, you got Charles to agree with you on one thing," Hanks said, "That doesn't mean you win."

"Yes it does," Alex said, "I think it's written somewhere."

Charles laughed, but the pounding in his head was getting worse. Perhaps he'd have to take it with them in the room. Hank had been awful fussy lately, so he knew he would never hear the end of it, but the pain was getting rather bad.

He opened up his desk drawer and saw that the bottle was gone. He frowned, before remembering that he had moved it to the cabinet the day before. Yes, of course he had. Why exactly had he done that again?

Charles wheeled out from behind his desk. He'd gotten halfway to the cabinet before the pain increased unbearably. He moaned and cradled his head in his hands.

"Professor?" Alex asked.

"Charles?"

"I'm fine," Charles said, the words coming out hoarse, "I just need to-"

He reached towards the cabinet, but his hand faltered. The room began spinning.

"Charles!" Hank yelled.

When Charles woke up, his mouth dry and his head pounding. He opened his eyes and saw fluorescent lights above him. Was he in the medical wing? There were too many wings in the house now, a house he had once known so well.

He turned his head in an attempt to confirm his suspicion he saw Alex deep in conversation with Hank.

"-how long was he using this shit?" asked Alex.

"Couple of years."

"Goddamn it."

"Language," Charles groaned.

The boys, no, men, he had to remember that they were in their mid-twenties now, turned and looked at him. Alex looked relieved, but Hank looked nervous.

He wondered why that was.

"Did I pass out?" he asked, "Silly. Maybe you were right Hank, maybe I should start getting some more sleep. I just wanted things to be ready for-"

"Look, I'm completely for you getting more sleep," Hank said, "But that's not the problem."

"Oh," said Charles.

He pulled himself up, his head still pounding.

"Hey, professor?" asked Alex, rushing to his side, "I think you should take it a little easier right now."

"I'm hardly fragile Alex," Charles said.

Alex and Hank shared a look. Despite a small burst of worry, he could only really feel annoyed at this treatment. He was coming up on forty for goodness sake.

"Don't make me read your minds," he said.

"Oh no, this is something we were gonna tell you," Alex said, "it's uh…kind of big."

Hank glared at Alex and Alex threw his hands up in the air.

"What else did you want me to say?" he said.

"Just tell me," Charles sighed.

Hank cleared his throat.

"Look, over the past few months you've been showing some eccentricities in your work," he said, "Not just the staying up late thing, but some absentmindedness, headaches-"

"Hank," Charles said, "I'm an alcoholic who decided to go cold turkey after years of using his body as a garbage dump and then put his telepathic abilities into overdrive. I'm bound to have some headaches."

"Yes, but maybe not so many," said Hank, "I would've asked you in for a scan sooner, but you were so focused on the school-"

"You're making a mountain out of a molehill," Charles said.

"He isn't," Alex said.

He frowned uncertainly as Alex crossed his arms.

"While you were out Hank had me help him put you into a CAT scan," he said.

"Hank," Charles moaned, "I am completely capable of-"

Alex's statement took a moment to sink in, as did the fact that it was the reason why the two of them were so concerned.

"-what?"

"In particular I wanted to look and see if there was anything wrong with your brain or sinus passages," Hank said, "It would be just like you to let a cold get out of hand and not tell anyone."

"So…I have some sort of sinus infection?" Charles said.

"No," Hank said.

He cleared his throat.

"The serum that I developed for you was meant for the neural cells in your spine," Hank said, "To create new ones to help your passages reconnect."

He cleared his throat again and, despite himself, he began to get nervous.

"But, um, it looks like some of those neural cells might have travelled a little further up the spinal cord," Hank said.

"They fade though," said Charles, "That's why I had to give myself injections every few hours."

"Right," Hank said, "Right."

For the third time Hank cleared his throat, and Charles knew something had gone dreadfully wrong.

"But over the course of a few years, it looks like some of them might have actually stayed once they got to your brain," Hank said, "And, this is all theory since I just did a surface scan, you've been using your powers a lot lately, which aggravated them, because they're not meant to take that kind of stress. So I think they've been getting into some of your brain's highways-"

"Hank," Charles said slowly, "Are you telling me that I might have a blood clot?"

"No," said Hank, "These are extra nervous cells. They wouldn't affect your blood passageways."

Thank God.

"I'm telling you that you might have a tumor."

Charles felt his heart freeze, feel his thoughts and breath begin to slow. He looked down at the counter, his nails scraping the surface of the metal table.

He'd killed himself. That was all there was too it. All those years of blissfully drinking, shooting himself up, and slipping into a comfortable state of misery had been the last years of his life. Now, when he was so close to making it right, he was going to die.

God, the word foolish didn't even begin to describe it.

"I'm not one hundred percent sure, and it might be benign," Hanks said, "Besides the headaches. But we'd need better machinery to investigate."

"I…" Charles said.

He swallowed, trying to avoid sliding back into the pit of misery and despair that he had already spent too much of his life in.

"I'll make an appointment," Alex said.

"That…won't be a good idea," said Charles.

"Why the hell not?' demanded Alex.

"Alex, I might have a…a…a tumor caused by a chemical compound that will be alien to the hospitals," he said, "And, while I'm not one hundred percent sure how this works, I'm not…I'm not sure it will be a good idea having someone who doesn't know I'm a mutant poking around in my brain."

"Then we tell them," Hank said.

"Okay, are you outta your mind?" asked Alex, "After Mags got up there and did his whole crazy mutant routine in front of the whole world?"

"And Raven saved the president?" Hank asked.

"Look, Raven was awesome, but the Professor's right," Alex said, "We're gonna have a split audience on the subject, and if we go to the wrong place we're going to have Sergeant McCreepy coming after us."

"Who?" Hank said.

"They guy who Raven rescued me from," said Alex, "Never found out the asshole's name. So he's Sergeant McCreepy."

The words felt like they were washing over and around him. Normally he might have pursued that, but his lips weren't working. He wanted to contribute, to tell them that they could discuss this, but the word 'tumor' kept pounding away in his head.

No, he couldn't have a tumor. He couldn't be dying. He'd seen himself in the future, seen his school filled with students. Then again, they had changed the future, hadn't they? What if this tumor was symptomatic of that change?

"So we need a place with good medical technology and health professionals who are okay with the idea of mutants," Hank said, "Do we know of a place like that?"

"Actually, we do," said Charles.

He was surprised at how calm his voice came out. His heart was pounding away and his mind was bursting, but that came out calm. No wonder both men stared at him.

"This place where Sam's working," Charles said.

"We don't know who owns it," Hank said.

"Sam works there," Charles said, "That's good enough for me."

He rubbed his head. Somewhere inside his head a mass might be growing, threatening to end his life. He could still feel the fear and uncertainty, the knowledge that it was probably all over. However, he had meant it when he'd said that he was done living without hope, done giving up.

He was going to continue.

"I'm going to make a phone call," he said.


	19. Chapter 19

October 21, 1973

"Sam?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone. He wondered if the connection was bad. He was making a call from New York to Scotland after all.

"Sam?" Charles repeated.

"Nah, Ah'm still here," Sam said, "But, a tumor Charles? Are ya sure about that?"

Despite himself, his heart clenched. Despair was happily chuckling at him, snapping at his heels and trying to find a foothold in his soul. He couldn't let it though, couldn't let it get that far. He had come so far already.

It had been difficult to pick up the phone and call Sam, to acknowledge what was going wrong, that he most likely had something that could be killing him slowly. However, he wouldn't let Hank make the phone call. Charles was taking responsibility for himself, and that meant begging his own favors.

"Not really," said Charles, "Unfortunately we don't have the right equipment to ascertain that for certain."

"Right," Sam said.

There was another pause and Charles cleared his throat.

"I was wondering if you had the resources in that facility where you work now," he said.

"Of course!" Sam said, "Ah'm sorry...this is just kinda...Jesus."

"No one agrees more than me," said Charles.

Sam forced a laugh on the other end.

"Anyway," he said, "This might work. We got some good equipment."

Charles's heart soared.

"We do have a neurosurgeon, an a pretty good one," Sam said, "So, Ah'm not a doctor, but Ah think that we can do something kinda like a scan. We might be ta best shot outside of a hospital, ya know?"

"Yes, I do," said Charles.

There was another pause.

"Ah'm gonna hafta talk ta our Director about this," he said, "Ah don't think that there'll be any trouble, but Ah just gotta ask her before I start bringing people on the Island. We got kids here, ya know?"

"Makes sense," Charles said.

"Can Ah tell her about Westchester?" asked Sam, "Might make her trust ya a bit more."

"If you trust her, then I don't see the harm in it," Charles said.

Sam sighed in relief.

"Thanks. It shouldn't be much of a problem," said Sam, "I'll vouch for ya though, but I wanna have everythin I can. Moira's jest a little careful."

Charles shifted the phone against his neck. His heart began to beat faster, but he was sure that it couldn't be the same Moira. That was impossible.

"Moira?" he asked.

"Yeah. But I can go talk ta her now. Like Ah said, she's just a little careful."

He wanted to swear and scream. Sam could be woefully unobservant at times.

"Sam, you said Moira," Charles said urgently, "Who's Moira?"

"Right, right. Ah guess Ah didn't tell ya her name that first time," Sam said, "But yeah, Moira MacTaggert. She's ta Island's director. If Ah go now, Ah should be able ta catch her before she leaves her office."

Charles had often heard a rapidly beating heart compared to dance. It felt more like a bag of popcorn going off in his chest though.

"Sam-"

"Gotta go Charles."

The line went dead and Charles looked at it. Could it be true? Had Moira started up another school in Scotland? There was a dim memory in his head of Moira telling him that she had family in Scotland. She hadn't told him that she'd had an island.

Perhaps she hadn't then, or perhaps she had bought it since then, but it didn't matter. What did matter in that moment was that he was going to see Moira again. All of his thoughts about his possible tumor were quickly fading from his head as he turned the notion over.

She would be sad. She would be angry. She would forgive him. She would hate him. The thoughts began rattling in his head and he felt another headache coming on. He swallowed some aspirin and stared in front of him, trying to calm himself down and failing miserably.

Would she not let him onto the Island after she found out who it was? No: that thought was ridiculous. Moira wasn't cruel enough to let a man die just because he had been cruel to her in the past. She was better than that.

He looked out the window, his breathing feeling as though it was finally approaching a normal level. His frantic thoughts were quietly dying out. Despite the panic in his heart, a smile crossed his lips. He was going to see Moira again.

The thought alone made him fell as though it were possible for him to run around dancing and screaming with joy. Yes, she might push him away, might not want him there, but he was going to see her again. He would have the chance to apologize, to throw himself on the mercy of the woman he had loved so dearly, still loved.

This wasn't how he'd envisioned it would go, but it was a discussion that was long in coming. It was likely that she would continue to hate him forever, but he needed to try to atone for some of his mistakes.

And, more than that, he just wanted Moira back.

* * *

><p>Moira finished signing off on the last paycheck for that week. It had been a difficult month, but she could feel herself gaining strength every day. The children were acclimatizing, smiling, playing, being children.<p>

Rahne had found a new friend in Kurt. She often caught the two of them reading the Bible, comparing his German text to her English one. Sometimes her daughter would tell Moira about the differences they had found in words, her voice excited. Moira could only smile back. Finally, her daughter had come alive again.

She knew that she still missed Doug, her first friend, the one who had changed her world. But sometimes roads diverged and they never met again. Moira had plenty of examples in her past to use on that count.

She put the paychecks into an envelope and got up. It was almost time to get dinner ready. Most of the time she ate in the cafeteria with the other children and staff, but once a week she made a point of having a private dinner with Rahne. Although she didn't regret the facility, she missed the personal time that she used to be able to spend with her daughter.

The door to her office opened and Sam stepped in, looking panicked. She got a sudden, but strong, feeling that she was going to run late.

"Moira, can Ah talk to ya?" he asked.

Moira sat down again.

"Of course," she said.

She gestured to the chair in front of her. Sam sat down in it quickly, his eyes flickering around wildly. Moira raised an eyebrow and waited. When he didn't say anything she folded her hands on her desk. Sam had a hard time elaborating sometimes.

"Is it the children?" she asked.

"Nah, nah," said Sam.

"Your sister?" Moira said, "I can give you leave if you need to go home, or she can come over here. You told me that she might be looking for a position soon and, frankly, we need more mutants on staff-"

"Nah."

She waited for another moment. Sam began looking around the room again and Moira sighed.

"Sam, if I don't know what's happening, I can't help you," she said.

"Ah'm sorry," he said, "It's just...Ah'm kinda havin a hard time wrappin my head around this."

He swallowed.

"Ah have a friend," he said.

She nodded, still waiting.

"The doctors think he might have a brain tumor."

Moira unfolded her hands, a rush of sympathy flooding into her. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like to hear that.

"Sam," she said, her voice soft, "I'm sorry."

"He doesn't need this," Sam said, "He's been through a lo Moira, bad stuff, an he's finally startin ta get back tagether an...an all, an now..."

He looked down. Moira got up and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I know this must be very difficult for you," she said, "I can give you as much time as you need if you need to go back to the States, and if there's anything else I can do-"

"There is actually," Sam said, looking back up at her, "Ya see, he can't go ta a proper hospital, get a better examination. Only able ta get the one he had coz of a friend."

The message clicked. Moira gave a gentle smile.

"Of course your friend can come here for treatment," she said, "We do have a neurosurgeon here after all. We can schedule him immediately. Heaven knows that the hospital wing isn't being used for much besides research."

Sam gave a tentative smile.

"I can call im back then," he said.

"Yes," Moira said, "But Sam, this is what Muir Island is supposed to be about. We are supposed to be creating a safe environment for mutants to get treatment. If his mutation is interfering with getting that treatment, then we should be able to sort all of that out."

"Ah know," Sam said, "Jest.."

Sam looked at Moira, his expression hopeful.

"Jest, he was the one who gave me my first real start in teachin," Sam said, "Really helped me out, an he doesn't deserve this, ya know?"

"No one deserves to have a tumor Sam," said Moira.

"Nah, guess not," he said.

He got up, straightening his jacket. She got up too, ready to leave as soon as Sam did.

"Jest wanted ta do sometin helpful for him now," he said, "After everything. He's jest...I didn't wanna hear that he had a tumor. Ah wasn't expecting it."

"Again, I don't think that anyone expects this sort of thing," Moira said.

Sam gave her a small smile. When he did, a dim thought came to Moira's mind.

"Sam?" she asked.

"Mmmhm?" he asked.

"You didn't have a teaching job on your resume when I hired you," she said, "Just student teaching and then time in the military."

"Oh, yeah," Sam said.

"You said he gave you your start. Was he your teacher, or-?" Moira asked.

"Nah, nah," said Sam.

He cleared his throat.

"Ah never meant ta lie ta ya when all of this was starting," he said, "But, well, Ah needed ta keep something safe, an ya hired me anyway."

Moira frowned, but nodded again anyway.

"There was a school in ta states for mutants," Sam said, "Nice place outside o New York."

Moira felt her heart and her head shut down. Instead she could only feel numbness come into her fingertips.

"Ah taught English there for a few years before it closed."

She sat down again slowly, trying to let the room come back into focus. So far, it refused to hear her commands.

"Anyway, Charles Xavier's ta one who hired me for that," continued Sam, oblivious, "Ah think ya'll like him when ya meet him. He's pretty easy to like, an ya had similar ideas after all."

He gestured to the room around him.

"I'm...I'm sure," she heard herself say.

"I'll just go an' give him a call back," Sam said.

He walked out of the room. Moira watched him go, watched the door shut. When it did she buried her head in her hands, forcing herself to take deep breaths.

"Not now," she whispered, "Please, not now."

She knew it was selfish to want Charles to stay away. If what Sam had said was true than he needed treatment, and he needed it soon. But the pain was blossoming again, sharp and fresh. She could feel his fingers on her temples, washing away her past and her future.

_"I love you Moira. You'll never know how much."_

Moira bit her lip, tasting blood from the wound. Somewhere Rahne was waiting for her to come out, to have dinner with her. Somewhere a life that she had built was buzzing around her, children feeling truly safe and happy for the first time.

It all seemed so far away. Charles Xavier was coming back into her life. With a brain tumor. Ready to shatter her comfortable life.

"Not now...not after everything," she murmured.

She let her head rest on the table, trying to concentrate on something other than the pain that she was feeling.


	20. Chapter 20

October 24, 1973

Moira could feel her hands growing clammy. She told herself that it wasn't a big deal that Charles Xavier was scheduled to arrive at Muir Island in a matter of minutes, that life was taking this strange turn. She was sure that she was doing a pretty good job of fooling everyone on that count.

Everyone except Rahne. She saw Rahne look up from her classwork when Moira came into the room, her nostrils flaring. Perhaps she smelt the adrenaline and sweat, slight physical reactions that Moira couldn't quite control.

Rahne had been watching her closely ever since she had woken up that morning. She had stopped short of asking her what was wrong though, so Moira didn't have to lie to her daughter. She had the feeling that she was on the verge of it though.

As a result she avoided Rahne as much as she could that morning. She'd told her that they were getting a patient in that day, but nothing else. The rest of the staff knew that someone was coming in but, once more, there were no additional details.

She'd had to tell Sam that she had crossed paths with Charles before. She didn't tell him everything, God knew she wasn't going to open herself up to that, but he needed to know to avoid any sort of awkwardness. It had actually pained her to see how excited he was at the prospect of his bosses knowing each other.

Moira fidgeted slightly as she waited for the ferry to arrive, readjusting her blazer. She was going to formally greet him, check up on his progress a few times while he was in the hospital wing, but other than that she was going to avoid him like the plague. Moira wanted him to come out fine, but she didn't see the need to bring up the past. She didn't need closure: just needed him to stay out of her life.

_"I love you Moira. You'll never know how much."_

Unfortunately she did know how much, and that was the problem. He had loved her enough to stay with her for a little while, and then to leave her to her own devices with no memory of her past for the next decade. Admittedly, her life was a good deal better than it had been eleven years ago. But it had taken too damn much to get to that point.

So when the ferry docked, when she saw Charles coming out, pushed by Hank, when Sam rushed to greet them, Moira stood stock still. She could see Charles saying something to Sam, saw the two of them shake hands.

Then she saw him look around, his eyes finally fixing on her. She wasn't sure what she had expected when he saw her again. Perhaps she had thought he would look guilty or upset, perhaps he would be just as happy to avoid her as she was to avoid him.

Instead, she saw his face light up when he saw her. A relieved smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and Moira wondered why the hell that was. She knew how stony she must look at the end of the pier, her hands folded across her chest.

Were pain medications making him that way? Moira wasn't sure, but nothing logical was going on in his head. After all, he was looking at her as though she were some sort of amazing surprise while she continued staring at him evenly.

Hank followed Charles's line of sight. He made eye contact with her shortly afterwards, giving a tentative wave. Moira softened slightly when she saw him. It seemed like the awkward teen had grown into an uncertain man, but at least she knew how to deal with that. After all, it wasn't like Hank had really done anything to her.

She nodded at the two of them, swallowing hard in her throat as they approached.

"Hank," she said.

"Hi," Hank said.

Steeling herself, she forced herself to look at Charles.

"Charles," she said.

"Moira," he said.

He smiled when he spoke her name, almost slightly disbelieving. Moira glanced back at Hank, who still looked uncomfortable. She wished he would just come out and say if Charles was high on pain medication, but she couldn't ask.

"The medical wing is right this way," she said, turning "We should be able to get something worked out in less than an hour. He doubles as a biology teacher."

"Everyone ere wears like five hats," said Sam, "Ah make a damn fine lunch lady."

"You look the role Sam," Hank said.

"Gee, thanks Hank."

Moira kept her back turned to the group. Only a few more steps, and then she could get this over with. She was planning on conferring with their resident neurosurgeon after everything was over, ask him what he found. Moira wasn't cruel or naïve enough to think that she didn't care whether he lived or died, or whether or not he would come out alright at the end of the day.

There was a spark of something inside her heart, something she was trying to let go of. Certain memories were tugging at the edge of her consciousness as she guide him to his room, but Moira refused to reflect on them. There was only trouble down that road.

She opened the door to the room, just as another teacher stopped Sam. They stood together, murmuring for a few moments, and then Sam sighed.

"Moira, Charles, Ah gotta go," he said, "Damn oven keeps breakin down every five minutes."

He rolled his eyes.

"We got every kind o doctor here cept one for ovens," he said.

"Maybe I can help," Hank offered.

Moira felt a lump in her throat. No. She couldn't be left alone with Charles.

"Damn fine idea," Sam said.

He gave an apologetic look at Charles.

"Ah'll be back here in five minutes," he said.

"No, go right ahead," said Charles, "You too Hank."

Moira wanted to protest, to tell them to stay put, but her voice was stuck in her throat.

"Are you sure Charles?" asked Hank, "I can stay-"

"It's fine Hank," Charles said.

His voice was slightly forceful, and Hank quickly nodded and followed Sam out of the room. Moira sighed.

"So you want to talk in private, is that it?" she asked.

"If possible, yes," Charles said.

"Fine. Let's get this over with," she said.

She turned to him, and saw the hurt reflected in his face.

"Moira, I know that what I did was wrong," he said, "But...well...I..."

"What?" Moira asked.

Her voice came out cruel, but she couldn't figure out another way to sound. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes.

"Charles-"

"Is this the patient?"

Moira looked over her shoulder. Rahne was standing in the doorway, looking at them curiously. God, not now.

"Um, yes, yes it is," Moira said.

"Okay," Rahne said.

She took a step closer.

"How do you know my mom?" she asked.

Charles's eyes widened, and what color he had on his face drained away. His lips moved soundlessly for a moment, and Moira quietly put a hand on Rahne's shoulder. She needed to get her out before things turned sour very quickly.

"We worked together," Charles said at last, "I um...um..."

Moira had never seen him at such a loss for words. She was about to usher Rahne out when she heard him blurt:

"How old are you?"

Rahne blinked slowly at Charles, and Moira turned back, frowning.

"Thirteen," Rahne said, "Almost."

"Oh," Charles said.

He slumped a little in his chair and looked up at Moira, licking his lips nervously. It was time to end this.

"Rahne, how about you go find Kurt and work on your book translations?" she asked, "I have to do paperwork and stuff. Boring stuff."

Rahne sighed but, with a last look at Charles, left the room. When she was sure she was gone Moira turned to Charles.

"What the hell was that?" she asked.

"I'm sorry...you never told me you had a daughter," he murmured.

"I adopted her a few years ago," said Moira.

She saw Charles sag in visible relief, but he wasn't off the hook yet. Moira didn't appreciate what had happened with Rahne, it had been awkward to the extreme, and she had a pretty good idea of why it had happened.

Men.

"But what was that?" she asked, "Why the questions? It's not like we..."

Charles looked at her in surprise and Moira trailed off.

"You don't remember?" he asked, his voice strained.

All Moira could do was stare at Charles, her mouth open. Then there was a quick stab of pain in the back of her head, and she winced.

_A hand was stroking her hair, lips next to her ear, murmuring something she couldn't quite make out. Moira sighed and tilted her head closer to him, placing a gentle kiss on his throat. He returned the kiss to her forehead._

_"We should get up soon," she murmured._

_"We still have some time," he said, "Just...stay. Just for a little longer."_

Moira blinked and continued staring at Charles.

"Oh my God," she said.

He gave her a desperate look.

"I...I told you," he said, "I wasn't in my right mind."

"You did love me," Moira said, "You loved me and then you-"

"You didn't say it back," said Charles.

His voice was so quiet that, at first, Moira thought she had imagined it.

"What?" she asked.

"You never said it back," he said, looking her in the eye, "Moira, I'm not saying that what I did was rational. It wasn't even rooted in emotions. It was rooted in someone who had just lost everything, and then gained something beautiful. I'm...I'm not sure that I was ready to deal with that."

She felt something inside her choke.

"Just because I didn't say it didn't mean that I didn't feel it," she said, "I...I don't know why I didn't say it back. Maybe I thought...maybe..."

She sighed.

"Maybe I thought you would know how I felt without me having to say it," said Moira.

"And now?" asked Charles.

His voice became quiet again, hopeful. She closed her eyes.

"Charles, you don't understand," she said.

"Then help me," he said.

She opened her eyes again.

"Charles, I lost everything in my old life because of what happened," Moira said, "I'm happy now, but...that doesn't excuse what happened."

"No, it doesn't," said Charles, "I can't change what I did though. All I can do is be sorry for it."

She shook her head.

"Why did you even do it?" she asked, "It had to be more than just thinking that I didn't love you."

"I wasn't in my right mind."

"But you were thinking something," Moira said, "I don't know what it was that you were thinking, but you're not stupid Charles. Even emotionally compromised, you would have been smart enough to have some sort of logic behind your actions."

Charles fell silent and looked down at his hands.

"I'm not sure Moira," he said.

She sighed again.

"Charles, there is too much going on in my life right now to have to deal with an answer like that," she said, "I have a daughter Charles, someone I'm responsible for."

Moira shifted. She felt uncomfortable, lost in the situation. She couldn't let it get out of hand, but she had no idea how she could let it continue.

"All we can be is friends," she said, "And I think that's all we can ever be. Do you understand that?"

There was a long silence. She looked back. Charles was gazing at her, his bright blue eyes roving over her face. Moira wasn't sure what he was looking for, but after a moment his face settled.

"I understand," he said.


	21. Chapter 21

October 24, 1973

Charles had not, to both the surprise of Hank and Sam, been particularly bothered at the diagnosis that yes, he did have a tumor. It wasn't cancerous, thank God for that, but it was still dangerous. Any sort of growth in that region of the brain was.

He had also been singularly unperturbed at the prospect of having surgery to remove it. The worst part was being told that they would have to shave his head to conduct the surgery, and he could see Hank's annoyance that this was what he was concerned about. Hank hadn't seen the vision of his future that Charles had seen though. He had a nasty feeling that this baldness was going to be permanent.

Perhaps there was something wrong with him for not being as worried over the tumor as he should be, but he had the feeling that it wasn't going to kill him. Not with the school in such a state. He would die after Westchester was had reached the point of glory that he had seen in his mind, and not a minute earlier. It just wasn't an option. Not with everything he'd seen in the future.

Of course, there was a tiny part of him that doubted. Charles refused to let it get to him too much though. He was rebuilding his life and, if he really was going to die now, then it was better than dying smelling like stale alcohol and his own self-indulgence.

He'd even made plans for what would happen after his death. Most of his money, and all of his property, was going to the school: he'd left some that would give Hank and Alex the funds they'd need to run it for several years. There was no one else he trusted to run it. Hank had insisted on coming with Charles to Muir Island, but Alex was more practical and Charles was glad the school was in his capable hands.

The rest was more of a gesture really. Alex and Hank were going to get generous amounts: they were practically family. There would be something for Raven too, if she ever decided she wanted to start over.

And, in a quick little scrawl, he'd added that a decent sum would be given to Muir Island. Not for Moira specifically: for her blossoming school. She wouldn't accept it for herself. He knew her well enough to know that. If he did have to die without winning her love, then he would still be happy to see her comfortably enabled to fulfill what he saw as a truly amazing feat.

Which brought him to the crux of the matter. Overall, it was difficult to feel anything approaching bother after the conversation he'd just had with Moira.

He hadn't given up on winning her love, despite what she had said to him and what he had said to her. Charles felt a little guilty about the lie, but, again, there was the possible question of his death. If he could accomplish nothing else before his surgery, he would at least like them to become friends again. After that, if he was alive, he could begin taking things down a different course.

He could start making plans now though, or at least that was what he thought he could do. Moira's stiff reaction had been discouraging, but her question had drawn him up short. Just what had he been thinking when he sent her away?

Yes, it would be easy to say that he wasn't in his right mind, after having lost so much, after fearing to lose what little he had. He could also blame it on wanting to keep her safe, but all of those answers had died the minute Moira had asked him her question.

She was right: he wasn't the sort of person to make snap decisions when it came to people he cared about. He hadn't given up on Raven or Erik yet, and the gloom of his mother's rejection had dogged him for years. For better or for worse, he held on to things, meaning that he must have had some line of logic to sending Moira away.

What was that line of logic though? What strange thought process had he been going through? To give a simple answer would be dismissing a decision that had impacted both of them, and he'd be foolish to think that she would take a dismissive answer. Moira deserved better.

Lost in his musings, Charles almost didn't catch the door opening. He turned his head and saw Rahne standing there, her head cocked to one side and her hands clutched behind her back. He stared at her, and she stared right back.

Charles had been embarrassed about his reaction towards Rahne earlier. After all, what were the odds that someone in his condition could father a child? But what really bothered him, beyond the initial, gaping question of Rahne's father, was the silly, but still biting, spark of hope.

Yes, he had hoped that Rahne was his, and not just selfishly for something to tie him to Moira. If anyone would end up being the mother of his children, if there was one woman that he could imagine spending the rest for his life with, it was Moira.

But Rahne was adopted, and in their last meeting his questions had hung awkwardly in the air. So he had no idea what to say to the little girl in the doorway, looking at him with frank curiosity. Charles doubted that she knew what to say either, since she just started at him for what seemed the longest time.

"Hello?" he ventured.

Rahne, obviously taking it as an invitation, walked inside. She put both of her hands on the armrests of the chair next to his bed and, half pulling herself up and half jumping, launched herself into it.

He leaned back thoughtfully as Rahne got comfortable. Most children would climb into a chair that was bigger than them, but Rahne had chosen to jump. He'd seen enough of his own students to know what that meant.

Rahne had a feral mutation. As she turned to face him, he saw her eyes flicker around the room, her nostrils flare. She did It more than he'd seen any child at his school do, even around strangers, and he wondered what that particular nugget meant.

"Are you sick?" she asked suddenly.

Charles gave her a small smile.

"Yes and no," he said.

He ran his hand through his hair, one of the last times he was going to be able to do that, and tapped the side of his head.

"I have a tumor inside my head growing next to my left ear," he said.

Charles supposed that most people wouldn't be so specific with a child, but he'd always found it was best to be as honest as possible. Rahne was coming up on thirteen soon and she was Moira's child. He doubted very much that she was a passive observer in the world.

He was proven correct when she nodded.

"I read a bit about that," she said, "You feeling okay?"

"Tired and headachey, but not bad," Charles said, "Thank you for asking."

Rahne nodded again before pulling up her feet to her chest. Charles began to wonder where Moira was. The school day was over, as far as he could tell, and Rahne struck him as the type to stay close to her mother.

"You knew my mom before?" she asked.

"Before?" Charles asked.

"Before me," said Rahne.

Her words were clipped and her sentences short, but not in a hostile manner. She spoke in short bursts, and he wondered if this extended conversation was a stretch for her.

He would have to investigate that, but he was starting to get a very unpleasant feeling about what her life had been like before Moira adopted her.

"Yes, I did," Charles said, "We, well, we worked together."

"Were you friends?" Rahne asked.

His heart contracted.

"Yes," he said, "Good friends."

Rahne rested her chin on her knees.

"Coz she never mentioned you before," Rahne said, "Why?"

"Oh," Charles said.

The hurt was unwarranted, but still there.

"Never?" he asked.

"Not before Do-my friend left," said Rahne.

She began chewing on her tongue and Charles paused. He had the feeling that he was delving into uncharted waters here, something that was potentially very dangerous indeed.

"Your friend left?" he asked.

"Yes," Rahne said.

She gave him a clear look, one that said that she didn't want him pursuing the subject. Uncharted waters indeed. Charles took that into account, and then folded his hands in his lap.

If Rahne were one of his students, what would he do? He'd always found it easy talking to children, a caregiver in the making perhaps. If she was one of his students, he'd figure out what was going on, if she was hurting

Maybe it was wrong to treat Rahne as one of his students. It wasn't as though she was his to take care of, his to protect. Nonetheless, now that he was trying to get back to being the Professor, it was hard to switch it off.

"It's actually rather painful," Charles said, "So, let's make a deal. Tell me about your friend, and I'll tell you, more or less, what happened."

"More or less," Rahne said.

"Yes," Charles said.

He didn't think Moira would appreciate him telling Rahne everything.

"More or less," Rahne repeated.

She let go of her knees.

"I had a friend," she said, "He was nice. Talked a lot. I liked that, because I don't, but he didn't mind. He liked that I could, you know."

She blinked and her eyes flashed amber at him. When she blinked again, they were a dark brown. A shapeshifter, but he didn't think she was like Raven. Not with the feral tendencies. It made a lot of sense really. Charles nodded, understanding. What must it have meant to Rahne to have a friend who accepted her so wholeheartedly?

"His parents didn't," Rahne said, "His uncle didn't. He pushed me."

Charles gripped his hands closer together, feeling the muscles in his neck tense up. His next words were involuntary.

"What kind of a man pushes a child?" he asked.

Rahne shrugged.

"Dun't matter," she said, "Just a push."

Just a push? In God's name, what had she been through?

"Mom came and broke his nose," Rahne said.

He couldn't help but smile, even though he was a little taken aback. Moira had done that? It was, of course, wrong to use unnecessary violence, but this sounded warranted.

Charles just had a hard time seeing the collected woman he'd known doing that. And yet...it made sense somehow.

"That's the Moira I know," he said.

Rahne looked down.

"Didn't matter," she said, "Parents wouldn't let him play with me anymore. He moved. I'll never see him again."

Charles relaxed his hands. He examined Rahne slowly, the way she had slumped since the beginning of her story.

"Your friend sounds intelligent, even if his family is ignorant," Charles said, "If he's smart-"

"He was smart," Rahne said.

"Then, if he remains smart, he will find a way to see you again," Charles said, "Sometimes paths diverge, never to meet again, but more often I think that lives that are truly connected can never really separate."

Rahne looked at her hands again, apparently thinking. She cleared her throat.

"You and mom," she said.

He nodded, deciding that it was best to let that be for now.

"Your mother and I did not part on good terms," he said.

"Were you mean?" Rahne asked.

There was a trace of hostility in her voice. Again, lying would be easier, but he saw no reason to tell unnecessary lies.

"Yes," Charles said, "Unintentionally, I was quite cruel and rather selfish. I haven't spoken to her in years because of it."

Rahne's brow scrunched. He had a feeling that she was going to leap to her mother's defense, but that she was reconsidering her words.

"You're sorry?" she asked.

He looked down at his hands again, composing himself. He was just talking to a child after all, but despite himself his voice broke when he spoke.

"Very," he said.

"Then tell her," Rahne said, "I've done lots of dumb stuff, broken things, and she's forgiven me."

Charles smiled sadly.

"Well, that's a bit different," said Charles, "You're her daughter, and she loves you."

"I know," said Rahne, "But why's that different?"

"Like I said," Charles said, "She loves you."

He closed his eyes, thinking of the way Moira had spoken to him that morning. He wasn't giving up, not by any means, but he couldn't run from this.

"She doesn't love me."


	22. Chapter 22

October 25, 1973

The diagnosis of Charles's tumor had been on Moira's mind ever since she heard it. She had difficulty focusing on anything else that morning, even when Rahne came in proudly bearing aloft her latest test grade.

Some part of her was feeling guilty about what she had told him the day before, but she couldn't lie to him out of pity for his condition. The Charles she remembered had never wanted pity, never wanted anyone looking down on him just because he couldn't use his legs. The Charles she had seen didn't look like he wanted pity because of a brain tumor.

Besides that, she had known that it was a possibility when she had told him how she felt. She had been fully aware that he could die and she had still told the truth. Moira had consciously made that choice, wanting to be honest with him.

But the new prognosis brought with it the knowledge that the man who had, inadvertently or not, helped shape the latter half of her life, was dying. It was difficult to get past that particular thought.

When she had forced herself to go visit him, Moira hadn't been sure what she would find. Would she find the gloomy Charles that she had known when he had lost his legs, or the brave one that she had seen on Cuba, the one she had briefly glimpsed before he had sent her away?

She didn't find either of them. Charles was quietly reading a book in his chair, one of his elbows leaning against the table. He didn't seem particularly troubled or distracted. It was a new kind of stoicism, one that she didn't understand.

"Charles?" she asked.

He looked up and smiled. Charles closed the book and wheeled over to her.

"Good morning Moira," he said, "I was just getting ready to go and find you. Well, once I finished that chapter."

Moira swallowed, feeling like she was on new ground. When had she gotten so awkward with him? It had been so easy to talk to him once: she remembered that much from their relationship. Everything with him had felt so right, so natural.

It didn't help that he clearly still felt that. Part of her seductively whispered that she could too. Moira's logic was tugging her away though, warning her against a choice that had caused so much pain for her in the past.

"I'm not that hard to find usually," Moira said, "But I was out. Where's Hank?"

Charles shrugged.

"You know, I'm not completely sure," he said, "I think he was going to help some of the doctors with something. He didn't want to go too far, he's rather fussy you know, but I wanted him to. If he learns anything about doctoring mutants, then it could only be good for him."

He put his book down on the bed.

"I hope you don't mind us looking at your trade secrets," he said.

"They're hardly trade secrets," Moira said, feeling out of sorts.

"Ah, then my next request won't seem so intrusive."

She raised her eyebrows, at the same time looking for signs that he was taking pain medication. It wasn't a good or original answer to what was happening, he seemed far too alert, but it was the only one that she could come up with.

"Why's that?" she asked.

"Oh, I wanted to see the facility," he said.

He waved his hand.

"This place is clearly marvelous," Charles said, "I didn't get to see much of it the other day, and the only student I saw was your daughter, but I just wanted to get a better feel for it. We're reopening ourselves, Sam must have told you that, and I'm always looking for ways to improve."

With another smile, he folded his hands in his lap.

"You know, when Sam first told me about this place, I went a little wild," he confessed, "I couldn't imagine a world that was amazing enough to have two schools for mutants."

"You need a better imagination," Moira said.

Charles chuckled.

"Yes," he said, "I do."

He flashed another grin at her. Why was he smiling so much? Moira had expected some sort of hesitancy on his part, some indication that the diagnosis of a tumor was weighing him down. Instead he acted like he was there on vacation.

Even if he was in denial about his condition, surely her own stiffness the day before would be reason enough for him to draw away. She had been very blunt in her appraisal, and she had seen no reason to hold back what she felt about their situation.

But did she want him to draw away? Did she want him to shut himself off from her? That was the simple question, and it got a simple answer: no she didn't. The complicated question was why she cared. She didn't have an answer for that.

"But I really would like to see it," he said.

She swallowed again.

"Yes," she said, "I...well..."

Moira felt an odd smile slip onto her face, unbidden.

"From one headmaster to another, I'd be interested to hear what you have to say," she said.

Charles nodded and Moira walked behind his wheelchair. It was a new one, she wasn't sure what had happened to his original one, but the sensation was familiar. She forced it down though, once again feeling the strings of her past urging her to caution.

However, Charles had said that he wanted to be friends. It would satisfy her second question, leave everything tied up neatly, no fears of the future to weigh her down. There was nothing wrong with being friends after all.

"This is the medical wing, but you've already seen that," she said.

She winced at her words, but Charles just nodded.

"Very high-tech," he said.

"Some of the doctors brought their own equipment," Moira said, "Some of it came from the research facility that used to be here."

"Yes, Sam told me a little bit about that," said Charles, looking around.

"He's chatty."

"When he knows he can trust someone, yes," Charles said, "Otherwise he shuts up like a clam."

He leaned back.

"I still don't understand how you funded all of this," he said, "Money was one of the things that was never a problem for me. But, well, I have no idea how you manage."

"We get by," Moira said, thinking of a few bills she had yet to pay, "I had some cash saved up from selling some of my aunt's holdings and renting out the research facility for a few years."

She sighed as she pushed him into the school wing.

"Unfortunately, the parents of all the students here are paying tuition," she said, "I tried to keep it as low as possible, but if we didn't charge tuition, we'd be broke within the week from electricity bills alone."

She shook her head.

"We have to have a strict lights out policy because of that," she said.

Charles nodded in understanding. She left his wheelchair and pushed the door open. The children were at recess now, so she didn't see any harm in showing him the main school room. Moira turned to get him, but he had already started wheeling himself into the room.

His eyes were soaking in the scene, looking so light and giddy that Moira envied him.

"This is quite perfect," he said.

He reached down and touched the carpet.

"Soft fibers, natural materials," he said.

"Yes," Moira said, surprised, "Some of the children have very sensitive skin. They have trouble dealing with synthetic fibers."

He nodded and began wheeling himself over to the bookcase. Moira walked beside him as his hands brushed over the titles. He paused on _To Kill A Mockingbird _and chuckled.

"What is it?" Moira asked.

"Nothing, nothing," he said.

He leaned back.

"How many students do you have?" he asked.

"Twenty-five," Moira said, "It's all we can take without expanding the facility, and we really don't have the funds for that right now."

Charles nodded thoughtfully.

"I see," he said.

"We're going to run into limitations even if we do get the funds though," Moira said, "We're a small island, but it's got woods for camping and a shore for when the weather warms up. If we expand that too much, then we take that away from the children."

"I understand," said Charles.

She sat down next to him.

"It was one of the things that my daughter loved about this place, that she could be free in it," Moira said, "She wanted me with her all the time at first, but she got a little more adventurous when she got older."

Charles looked uncomfortable suddenly.

"Um...about your daughter," he said.

Moira drew up short, feeling uneasy. She didn't want him to repeat those questions.

"She came to talk to me after you left," he said, "I told her that we'd been friends once. I don't know how much contact you want me having with her or-"

"I don't object to who you are Charles," said Moira, "Only what you did."

Charles bowed his head.

"Moira...I'm sorry about my reaction when I saw her," he said.

Warning bells went off in her head, but she silenced them. He was just apologizing. That could mean any number of things. So she remained silent, waiting.

"I'm sorry I don't have a good way to talk to you about what happened between us," he said, "I'm sorry I did it at all, and I believe that life after what I did must have been very difficult. It's not something I thought of then, but it was something I thought of since. Quite a bit actually, and I was glad that you were in charge of Muir Island, because that meant that I could see you again. Apologize, see how you were."

A lump formed in her throat. He let his hands fall back in his lap.

"But...the idea that I had left you alone and pregnant was too much for me to bear," he said.

Moira looked away, marshaling her thoughts.

"You didn't," she said.

"I know that now," Charles said, his voice still immeasurably soft and sincere, "But it doesn't lessen the difficult situation I put you in."

She looked back at him. He was still looking at her frankly, honestly, wanting her to say something.

"I was a laughingstock at work," she said, "I suffered from headaches and disorientation, eventually resigning in disgrace. I flitted from job to job, trying to figure out why people that I had obviously cared about had cut me loose."

She took a deep breath.

"Then I found out that, no, they hadn't all cut me loose," she said, "Just the person I had cared about the most."

Charles nodded slowly, sighing before he spoke.

"I don't have a good answer for you," he said, "And I'm sorry for that, but I am trying to figure it out. I'm not...back to who I was. Not until I figure that out. But I want you to know that that is not what I wanted for you and, explanation or not, I am sorry."

Moira tugged on the hem of her blazer, trying to figure out what to say, why her heart fell like it was breaking.

"I know that," she said at last.

The next words were difficult to say, but she had to say them. Charles truly was sorry, even if she couldn't fully trust him. He was so eager for her forgiveness and, whether or not the person in question was dying, Moira could respect that.

She could at least try to forgive him.

"Let's try to put it behind us," she said.

Moira got to her feet, taking the handles on Charles's wheelchair.

"Do you want to see the schoolroom for the older kids?" she asked.

He looked at her, his blue eyes pensive.

"Yes," he said, "Let's."


	23. Chapter 23

October 29, 1973

Rahne liked Charles. He was kind, and he had made a fair deal with her. She hadn't liked talking about Doug, but she thought that he might not like talking about her mother either. It was a fair trade, and Rahne could appreciate fair trades.

He was also honest. He had been mean to her mother once, but he was sorry for it now. It was puzzling on two counts. One, only awful people were mean to her mother, like Doug's uncle. she was too amazing for anyone good to be awful to. Charles wasn't awful, so it didn't make much sense.

The second thing was the idea that her mother wouldn't forgive him, or at least that was what he thought. She'd been paying close attention to the two of them after he said that. Her mother might not be aware of it, but when Charles was around, she smiled more, really smiled.

It was an odd feeling. Her mother's true smiles had always been directed at her. Rahne had thought it was just because they weren't around other people often. She was aware that that was her fault, because her own fears.

At least she was making up for that now. Muir Island was filled with people. Rahne might not be friends with all of her classmates, but she did speak to them on occasion, and she had Kurt. She was better than she had been, so there was that.

Her mother's smiles didn't become more genuine though. It was curious to see that they were directed at Charles, since by his admission she didn't like him. Rahne filed that away and began to look at the situation with a critical eye. They looked to be friends, but there was some tension.

The more she thought of it, the more she wondered if her mother really hadn't forgiven Charles. Her mother was a good woman, the best woman in the world, but Rahne knew that she was only human. She couldn't be expected to do everything.

Perhaps Charles had cut her deeply. Rahne knew all too well that there were some wounds that went deep, wounds that scabbed but never quite healed. Her mother might be trying to forgive him, just like Rahne was trying to forgive Doug's parents. If Charles was right and she met Doug again one day, she wasn't sure what she would do if she ran into her parents.

Rahne was trying to do the right thing though, because forgiving people was what God wanted her to do. It said that in her Bible and in Kurt's, even though Kurt had some stories in his Bible that she didn't have in hers. She hadn't been sure why this was, and Kurt had been puzzled too. Rahne had finally looked at both their Bibles and found that, not only was Kurt's in German, but it was also a different version. She'd love to see them all some day.

She figured that, in every version, God wanted people to forgive. No doubt her mother wanted to forgive Charles, because he was sorry and that was the right thing to do. Her mother always did the right thing. She was just struggling.

Rahne was going to help her mother, just like she had always helped her. She didn't know how to go about doing this, but she would figure it out soon. All she needed to do was know a little bit more about Charles. Then she would figure out what to do.

So, this time, when she visited him, she came with a much stronger agenda. She also brought Kurt. It was good to have an ally, and Charles was sure to like Kurt. He asked a lot of questions, so that would keep Charles talking while she observed him.

She had told Kurt about her plan in advance, because she really did think that he would be able to help. Kurt was delighted at the idea, but she had sworn him to secrecy. Rahne didn't know if her mother would approve.

With all of her wits about her, Rahne knocked on the door to Charles's room.

"Who is it?" he called.

"Just Rahne," she said, "And my friend: Kurt."

"Oh, um, alright."

She opened the door. Kurt scampered around her, no doubt impatient. He was always in a hurry.

"I wanted to see if you felt better," she said.

Charles nodded, but he was staring at Kurt. Rahne sighed inwardly. Did he do that to every child he met?

"Sorry?" he said, finally turning to her.

"I wanted to see if you felt better," she repeated.

Kurt climbed into a chair by Charles's bedside. He shifted from one foot to another before jumping onto the bed's headboard and balancing on it in half a crouch. Charles stared at him again, and Rahne shook her head as she got into a chair.

"Kurt likes to climb on things," she said.

"Ja," Kurt said, "It is fun. I was acrobat before school."

Rahne shrugged. She waited for him to say anything, just like he was supposed to. She needed Charles's attention to be directed elsewhere for this to work.

"Your name is Kurt, right?" Charles asked.

Maybe Charles would distract himself.

"Ja," Kurt said, "I come here at start of term."

"Where from?"

"Deustchland," he said.

"It means Germany," Rahne explained.

Kurt had been teaching her bits and pieces of German so she could understand him better. Rahne wasn't great, but it helped.

"Yes, of course," said Charles, "It must be very hard being so far away from your parents."

Her friend shrugged.

"I do not know mein parents," he said.

Charles blinked, and Rahne tilted her head towards him. That phrase needed to be explained, and she didn't want to do it for him.

"I vas left on un doorstep," Kurt said cheerfully, "Margali took me in, und I met Stefan, und mein Amanda."

"Oh," Charles said, "I'm sorry."

Kurt shrugged. Charles seemed a little puzzled by Kurt's tone and reaction, but Rahne saw a caring expression take over his face. So what had happened with her hadn't been a coincidence: he liked children even if he was a little odd. That was a bonus in her book.

"It must be difficult to be so far away from them though," he said.

"Ja," Kurt said, "I do. Especially mein Amanda, but I vrite. I am gut at zat."

"You like writing?" asked Charles.

"Not at first," Kurt said, "But Rahne, she help me."

Charles's eyes were suddenly on her, and Rahne wondered why Kurt had decided to turn the attention away from him. She was only there to observe after all.

"That's very kind of you," he said.

Rahne shrunk into herself a little, unsure of what to do with the compliment.

"It was nothing," she said, "We were copying down passages, and he needed help."

"Copying passages?" Charles asked, "From what?"

Kurt really should have kept him distracted. He always asked observant questions. It was good that he was smart, smart like her mother, but still.

"Our Bibles," said Rahne, "We both have copies, but Kurt's is different."

"Ve are in Malachi!" Kurt proclaimed.

Charles tilted his head, his eyes flicking between them.

"Is that an assignment?" he asked.

"No, for fun," Kurt said.

Charles nodded, his eyes moving between Rahne and Kurt.

"What else do you like to read?" he asked.

"I don't," Rahne said, "Reading isn't fun."

Charles laughed.

"It is Rahne," he said.

"No it isn't."

He shook his head.

"You've just been reading the wrong books," he said, "I'll see if I can find something a little more suitable."

He smiled at her and Rahne steeled her determination. Charles was nice, and she was sure now that her mother wanted to forgive him, but couldn't. She wouldn't hate anyone this nice.

No matter. She would help her.

* * *

><p>"So your surgery's scheduled for Monday?" Alex asked.<p>

"Yes," Charles said, "They said that there are a few things they want to make sure of before going in."

He moved the phone from one side of his shoulder to the other. Rahne and Kurt had long since left. Kurt's appearance was troubling, and Charles wondered if he could instruct Hank to do some discreet investigations if, by chance, he did die in surgery.

Kurt looked too much like Raven for it to be a coincidence, and his story only seemed to back his theory up. There were other thoughts too. If Raven had to leave any child of hers at a doorstep, why hadn't it been his?

It wasn't something to be pondered now though, not when he was in Scotland and working on theories instead of facts. He would wait until he returned to the States, and try to see if he could have a word with this 'Margali' or, better yet, Raven.

As for Rahne, he was enjoying her company. Moira had raised a charming girl who was quickly growing into a young woman. She was still struggling a bit, true, but she was coming out of it. A child like that only needed love to thrive, and Moira had fixed that problem.

Rahne was kind and sweet and, although she disliked reading, she was clever in her own way. It sounded like she was deeply religious, which was unusual for someone her age, but she had bonded with Kurt over it. She preferred listening to people, and he had the feeling that Kurt had a friend for life in her.

If he'd had a daughter, he would have liked her to be like Rahne.

"Alright," said Alex, "Are you familiar with the prep?"

"They're going to shave my head the night before," he said glumly.

"This again?" asked Alex, "No offense Professor, but you're gonna have a chunk of your head carved out in a few days."

"Thank you for the lovely visual."

"You know what I mean," said Alex, "With all of that happening, I'd think that you'd take this just a little more seriously."

Charles scratched the side of his head. He supposed that he did sound insensitive and uncaring about his future, something that Alex and Hank very clearly cared about. However, even with the surgery staring him in the face, he couldn't muster up more worry about it.

"Alex, I know that I told you about Logan," he said.

"I know," muttered Alex.

His friend and former student gave a frustrated sigh.

"Still," he said, "We don't know for sure."

"No, we don't," said Charles, "Which is why I do have my affairs in order. But, Alex, let me tell you something."

He smiled.

"I don't think I'm going to die, and not just because of what I saw in the future," he said, "I don't feel it, not in my bones, not even any doubt really. I believe that I will come out of this, and I will return to the school. We will open in a few months, and I will see our school become the sanctuary and beacon of hope that it was always meant to be."

Charles looked out the window. There were a few children playing outside. They were all shapes and sizes, all colors, scales, gills, and tails. He wanted that for Westchester.

"And then I want to create an exchange student program with the facility in Muir Island," Charles said, "The logistics will be difficult, I'll be the first to admit that, but I really think it will be worth it-"

"Charles," laughed Alex, "I think I know why Hank says that you want to run before we walk."

"I'm just tired of wasting time Alex," said Charles, "Aren't you?"

The question was pointed, but he knew that there was a reason why Alex had jumped at the offer of a job at Westchester so quickly.

"Yeah," Alex sighed, "I am."

There was a noise in the background.

"I've got to go," he said, "We're getting another book shipment in today, and I need to sign for all that shit."

"No swearing when the children come in," said Charles.

"Sure," Alex said, "But only if you're there to remind me."

"I told you," Charles said, "I will be. But before you go, there is one thing you could do for me."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

Charles grinned.

"In my room, there's a bookcase next to the window," he said, "Go to the bottom shelf, and ship all of the books on that shelf here to me. Express delivery."

"Um, sure," said Alex, puzzled, "How long do you plan to stay there after the surgery?"

"Oh, probably not too long," Charles said, "They're not for me."

"Then who are they for?"

He thought of Rahne and Kurt, two children who, if he was right, could be tied to his past as well as his future.

"Some special children," he said.


	24. Chapter 24

November 1, 1973

"Charles, are you sure that you're alright?" Moira asked.

"As touched as I am by your concern, I am," said Charles.

He flashed a smile at her.

"I am a little hungry, but after the surgery I would enjoy a pizza," he said.

"They don't do pizza in Scotland," Moira said.

She gave a tired sigh.

"Trust me, I've looked."

"Well, perhaps you can sneak one in from the kitchens," he said, "Hank told me that I'm going to be eating quite a lot of healthy food. I'd enjoy having someone on my side for a change."

She glanced at him, her eyes soft and curious. Charles had always loved that expression.

"You're probably going to get this question a lot," she said, "But...are you sure that you're fine? It's a major surgery tomorrow."

"I am fine," he said.

"You're not scared?"

Her voice was incredulous, and he knew that he would be in her shoes. He wished that he could just tell her everything, but the less people who knew about Logan coming from the future the better. He'd only told Alex because there was no way around it.

Charles fully intended to let Moira in on the secret, but not now. If, by chance, he did die, then he wasn't going to waste what little time he had left explaining why he was going to survive. He would tell her after it was all over.

He was using that word, 'if,' quite a bit.

"Not at all," he answered.

She looked at him for another minute, and the clock in the room softly chimed nine. Moira sighed.

"I have to clear out," she said, "Hank should be in to do the final observations. Get some rest."

"I'm going to be out for several hours tomorrow," Charles said, "Extra rest seems unnecessary."

"Just obey the doctors."

"I don't have much of a choice," he said.

Moira got up from her chair, heading towards the door. She paused before she reached it, turning at the last minute to walk by his bed. He looked up at her, surprised, and then she leaned down and kissed his forehead.

He closed his eyes, drinking in the feeling of her lips on his forehead. Inwardly he knew she was only doing this because this might be goodbye, but he couldn't help the spark inside of him that it kindled, the urge to tell her everything he was feeling.

Charles yearned to pull her closer, to feel her lips on his, but he stopped himself. No. It wasn't time for that. She pulled away slowly.

"Take care of yourself," she said.

"I will," he said, "You do the same."

She stared at him for a moment more before heading towards the door. Hank opened it moments before she left, and she moved past him on the way out. Hank gave Charles a questioning look, but Charles returned his gaze impassively.

Adjusting his glasses, Hank sat down on the chair next to Charles's bed.

"So. Surgery's tomorrow," he said.

Charles nodded, leaning his head back into the pillow. Immediately he could feel the strange texture of the fabric up and down the whole length of his head. It was going to be difficult being bald.

"Do you need anything to help you sleep?" asked Hank.

"Not really," Charles said.

Hank shifted in his seat.

"Charles," he said, "You know that...well...I know you think you're not going to die tomorrow. And I know why."

Charles turned his head towards him, waiting.

"But...I can't say that I'm not worried for you," Hank said.

"Logically we both know that it's unlikely I'll die tomorrow, or any other day until I'm rather old," said Charles.

"We changed things though," Hank said, "I don't know what that means for the future."

"It means that there will be no war with the Sentinels," Charles said, "It means that Trask Industries has been crippled. It also means that we have an awful lot of work to do, but I think that we'll have to take care of that after my surgery."

Hank shook his head.

"You're just...you're so sure."

"Yes, I am," Charles said, "And I know everything's going to be alright."

He paused, the words feeling strange. He'd been thinking them to himself and saying them so often that they had become a mantra. He wanted Hank to know that he was confident about the future, to think that he didn't have any doubts so that Hank wouldn't have any.

But, in that moment, he also wanted to be honest for him. Ever since Cuba he'd learned that being strong only got you so far. He'd wanted to be strong for Raven, and she had fought him in an attempt to establish her own strength. He'd tried to be strong-arm his way into Erik's psyche as his conscience instead of watching his friend build his own.

When Moira had told him that she would be fine, that she could handle the CIA, he had tried to be the strong one. He had tried to do the noble thing and send her away, and he had only hurt both of them. Why couldn't he have trusted her?

A thought struck him so suddenly that he sat up, gripping the edge of his bed.

"Charles?" Hank asked, alarmed.

He knew he should answer him, but his mind was far away at the moment, years in the past. Charles remembered holding Moira in his arms after she had fallen asleep, wondering at how strong at bright she was, and how terrified he was.

He remembered pressing a trembling kiss to her forehead as she had done for him only minutes earlier, his hands smoothing her hair.

"I didn't trust her," he said.

"What?" asked Hank.

Charles blinked at him before exhaling slowly.

"Nothing," he said.

"Charles," Hank said, his tone warning, "Don't give me that."

"No, no," said Charles, "It's alright. I just figured something out. That's all."

He leaned back. Hank was still regarding him suspiciously, but he wasn't going to share his discovery. Moira deserved to know it first.

"Hank, I know that everything is going to be alright," he said.

"You said that already," Hank said, giving him a hard look.

Charles chuckled.

"I did."

He sighed and closed his eyes. It was time to be honest now.

"But that doesn't mean that I don't have doubts," he said, "The same type that you have, the ones that try to keep me awake at night."

Opening his eyes, he saw that his Hank's mouth was slightly agape.

"Have you been scared all this time?" Hank said.

"Scared is a very strong word," said Charles, "Slightly nervous, perhaps? Not very though."

"Charles, you could die tomorrow," Hank said, "I'm not trying to scare you, but you need to-"

"I always knew it was a possibility. Everything's ready Hank," said Charles, "The school is yours. You and Alex, but I would appreciate you keeping an eye on him."

Hank sat back, staring at Charles with wide eyes and his lips moving wordlessly. He was surprised that Hank was so surprised. Had he really not known that that was how Charles had seen him, that he was family now?

"Charles..." he murmured.

"The school is my life, my dream," Charles said, "It's the best part of me, a place that's tied up in the person I want to be."

He smiled at Hank.

"While I would certainly trust you and Alex with it, I'm not ready to leave it yet," he said, "Which is why I know I'll come back. I want to work on it, see it completed, filled with students."

He nodded at the door.

"And I want to win Moira back too," Charles said, "I want her to know that I'm sorry for what I did, and I want her to love me like I love her."

Hank continued to stare at him.

"I wondered," he said.

"It was my fault that I lost her," Charles said, his voice quiet, "I didn't know why I had done it, but I know now it was tied up in the person I was becoming. I'm so sick of that person: the one who locks the world out and drowns in his own despair. He didn't deserve her, and maybe I don't now."

He went to run his hands through his hair, but instead he could only feel his shorn head. He'd have to get used to that.

"But...I won't let that doubt ruin my life. I can't fix all of the mistakes I made in my past," Charles said, "But there are two things that I do regret bitterly and I can change: losing the school and losing Moira. I'm not quite so certain about Moira, but I need to try."

Hank nodded.

"I know that feeling," he said.

Charles turned to him, confused, followed by a rush of sympathy. He knew exactly what Hank met. Had he never really talked to Hank about what had happened between him and Raven? Had he really been so dense that he had never recognized the need for that?

No. He already knew the answer to that question.

"Hank...I know how you felt about my sister," he said, "And I'm sorry that...afterward I never-"

"Charles, I was someone who fell in love with what she represented," Hank said, "You were her brother who had just lost her, his friend, and his legs. How selfish would I be if I decided that I took precedence over you?"

"But still."

There was a deep silence. Hank clasped his hands in his lap, looking down.

"She made a choice to leave, and that included leaving me," he said, "She must have known that I wouldn't go with her."

For a few seconds, Hank struggled to speak.

"I don't even think she cared if I did, if she wanted me to come," he said, "She didn't ask me on the beach, didn't try. I knew when she left you that, if you couldn't make her stay, how could I? But...she...didn't even try to convince me. Just said 'mutant and proud' and left. She might have been talking to Alex or Sean for all the affection she had in her tone."

"And if she had asked?" Charles asked.

A small, painful smile crossed Hank's face.

"What do you think?" he asked.

Charles smiled, but it held the same pain that Hank's did.

"And I think I realized that the day when I saw her at the White House," he said, "I could see it in her eyes: she looked at the world differently. I...blew my chance before that because I couldn't get the right words to come out. But, even if she hadn't left..."

His friend sighed.

"Do you really think it would have worked out?" he said, "Her and me? We were only drawn to each other because we thought we understood each other. We never actually took time to see if we did. We just kind of assumed that everything we thought would go along the same lines after wishing that we didn't have physical mutations."

Once again, Hank stopped, struggling to speak.

"She figured it out first and, again, I'm not sure if she cared if I ever figured it out," he said, "There's so much I won't know, but she didn't...I don't think she viewed what we were in the same way."

Hank looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time in what seemed like ages.

"It wouldn't have worked," he said, "I'm coming to terms with that, even if it does hurt to be sidelined like that."

Charles reached out and grasped his friend's shoulder.

"I know that what I'm about to say might not help," he said, "But for what it's worth, I would have wanted someone like you by her side."

For some reason, the words seemed to come out so easily.

"Not because of how smart or strong you are, but because of how courageous you are," he said, "You never, ever gave up on me Hank. And you'll never know how much I appreciate that."

Hank blinked and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes.

"You'd better be right about tomorrow Charles," he said, "Don't you dare die."

"Trust me, I won't," Charles said, "But, just in case.."

He cleared his throat, seeing his vision blur.

"I have a book shipment, coming in a few days," he said, "I...I want the books to go to Rahne and Kurt. I think that they'll enjoy them. They're a little above Kurt's reading level, I think, but I know Rahne will love them."

Replacing his glasses, Hank nodded.

"And then...then I need you to deliver a letter," Charles said.


	25. Chapter 25

November 2, 1973

Moira sat in the room outside of the surgery. They had been in there for an hour already, and she knew that there were at least two hours to go. The surgeon was particularly skilled, and she knew he'd set some records. His niece was a mutant though, and he'd been eager to create a place that would be safe for her one day. It was the only way Muir Island could afford someone like him.

She had known that she was going to be there for a long time, but she couldn't think of anywhere else that she could be. Not knowing what was going on behind those doors. So she brought curriculums to go over, progress reports to read, and paperwork to sign.

It wasn't going well. Everything that she tried to read blurred. Moira found herself reading some progress reports two or three times over, and she set them aside. Something more mechanical might be in order, something that didn't require her to process information. She'd already gone over the amounts for the bills: signing them would be easy.

As she tried to sign some of the forms, her signature came out shaky. She put the pen down and rested her head in her hands, frustrated with herself. Confused emotions warred within her, and they were slowly but surely pulsing to the front of her mind.

She remembered when she had simply wished that Charles would go away, that he wouldn't set foot on Muir Island. It had been an impossible wish, she wouldn't have refused a sick man the chance for treatment, but at least she had known what she was feeling.

Now it was all whirled and confused inside of her. She was used to knowing what she was feeling, knowing herself. It was how she had managed to push through any obstacle, to withstand any storm. Sometimes it took her a while to pick herself up again, but she always did it.

This time though, she wasn't sure what was going on inside of her. She had decided not to trust Charles before he had stepped food on Muir Island. Moira still thought that he was a good man, but he was willing to let things go that should have been held onto. She'd been surprised when he'd let Raven go with only a few words. Perhaps he'd been afraid of pressuring her, his gut telling him to do the right thing but having trouble.

Really, she should have known that she would be next. Raven had been with him since he was a child, and he'd still been willing to let her go. Moira had only spent a few months with him, not a relationship that spanned the years.

So why had it hurt so much? Why had loving him become such a part of her that, after only a few months of knowing each other and a few days of having a relationship, the pain was so sharp?

She had all of her memories now, memories of planning a war, and then a school. The last ones had been good, even if they had been tinged with sadness. It had been one of the best periods of her life, full of planning and exploring a world that could either move forward into light or backwards into darkness. It all hinged on them.

Moira hadn't told Charles, but she had been considering quitting the CIA. And why not? Being considered collateral hadn't surprised her. She had been willing to lay down her life for her country, and she had signed up for that.

But there had been children on that beach. Yes, she had led them into a combat zone. But it had been a protested move, and McCone and Stryker probably hadn't even thought of them when it had happened. If anyone had crossed their minds, it might have been her, and that was a strong might. An agent's life could never be the sole consideration.

Children should have been though. And then their foolish, thoughtless act had been all the justification that Erik had needed to begin his war on humanity. They had created a monster that day on the beach, a monster with followers that would one day crash onto the White House lawn with robots. Idiots.

She'd had a chance to trade them for a place where a difference was being made, where cares about future generations were placed above concerns about how the past generation would react. With Charles and the rest she had felt something changing within her, the strength to change the world flooding into her.

And then, she had completed the final steps towards falling in love with Charles. It was inevitable really. They were both so well tuned to each other. He was more idealistic than she was, and she had been less optimistic, but she had thought that she'd found a kindred soul.

She'd trusted the thought enough to fall into his arms, and that was when he'd told her that he loved her. There had been so much emotion that had been poured into the words that she couldn't speak, could only kiss him back and hope that he understood. He hadn't.

Even now, part of her wondered if she had really been so far off the mark. Their lives had taken them on divergent paths, only to have them meet in the middle. They had both started schools, inspired by a few months where they had dreamed together, wanting to make a safe place for mutants. He'd been thinking of the world, she'd been thinking of her daughter. The causes weren't really so different.

Kindred souls indeed.

"Moira?"

She looked up. Hank was staring at her, a book held under his arm. She sat up, brushing her papers.

"Hey Hank," she said, "I was just...I didn't get much sleep last night."

There was enough truth in it that she didn't feel bad saying it. Hank nodded and sat down next to her.

"Neither did I," he said.

He paused, his hands turning over the book he'd brought.

"He's going to be fine," Hanks said, "I know that. I just need to...to see that everything's going to be okay. I was the one who invented that damn serum."

Moira put a hand on Hank's shoulder. She'd read about the details of Charles's case in the dossier. She couldn't imagine the pain that Hank was going through.

"He certainly seems convinced that that's how it's going to be," Moira said.

Hank shrugged, before sighing and digging into his pocket. He pulled out an envelope and hesitated, placing it over his book.

"Moira...Charles...he told me..." he said.

"Yes?"

He flipped over the letter. Moira could see her own name written on the envelope in Charles's neat handwriting. A burning pressure began behind her eyes.

"He um, he wanted me to give this to you," Hank said lamely.

Hank held the envelope out to her. She took it, her hands shaking slightly, barely knowing what she was doing. The minutes began to pass as she stared at the neat handwriting on the envelope, her mind shutting down.

_Stop being so afraid._

She swallowed. She hadn't heard that voice since she had gone out to rescue Rahne years ago. Moira swallowed and opened the letter. Her hands were trembling in earnest, but the words didn't blur in front of her like the progress reports had.

No. They were all too clear now.

_Moira,_

_I know how silly this is, but I need to tell you something, and I'm running out of time. I don't intend to die today, but nor do I intend to leave anything unsaid in case I do. A few days ago you asked me why I had sent you away, and I was unable to give you an answer. I have one now. If anything happens, you deserve to know it._

_I've already told you part of the truth. I was worried that you didn't love me back, but that wasn't all. You were right: there was a chain of logic that I was following, however flawed. In the end it all came down to trust._

_It wasn't that I didn't trust you. I trusted you with my life, and I knew that you would stand by me through anything. You trusted me enough to do so. I even trusted you with the lives of Alex, Sean, and Hank. I knew that you would never put them in danger if you could help it._

_But it was knowing all of this that led me to make the decision to send you away. I was afraid, yes, and this did factor into what I did. But there was another factor, one that probably didn't even register to you. I didn't trust you with your own life._

_You would die to protect us all, and if the CIA had tried to hurt you to get the information out of you, you wouldn't have budged an inch. You said so yourself. True, we could have run a rescue mission, but there was no guarantee that we would have been in time._

_I knew that you would have happily sacrificed yourself for the rest of us. It's what I would have done. We're so alike, you and I, that as soon as I realized what I would do in that situation, I knew you would do it too._

_But I also knew that you wouldn't be willing to leave us to save yourself. When I realized that I knew that I couldn't just ask you to go. You would fight back and fight back hard. You can be amazing like that. So I came to the conclusion, however cruel, that I needed to make sure you didn't know that there were people you had left._

_Having you alive in the world somewhere, with no memory of your time with us, no memory of the love we shared or what we accomplished, seemed better than knowing you were dead. It allowed me to struggle through the next few years believing that, if nothing else, I had saved you._

_Yes, this was wrong. I should have talked to you, convinced you not to go to the CIA, come up with another plan. But I told you that my fear was very much alive and pulsing inside of me, and all I could think about was the possibility of losing someone else._

_I've always tried to do the right thing, but lately I've started to realize that I haven't always thought things through. I never meant for you to be in pain, and I was unaware of the head pains and repercussions at your work that this would cause._

_If anything happens to me today, which I don't think it will, I wanted you to know. When I wake up, you're free to come and yell at me if you want. I'm sorry for what I did, but you're right. I still did it and, if this isn't an acceptable answer, I will understand._

_With all of my regard,_

_Charles_

Moira got up, clenching the letter in her hand.

"Moira?" asked Hank.

She didn't answer and, instead hurried down the hall, her shoes clicking on the floor until she got to her office. Moira shut the door, locking it behind her. Then she slid down it, feeling what little feeling she had in her limbs slip away.

Moira began crying, her tears drenching the letter. Her shoulders shook with sobs, because she knew what the letter meant. Charles may as well have sighed it 'with love' for all of the emotion that had been poured into it.

Something told her that he wouldn't die that day, that he was going to come back. When he did, he was going to know that she read the letter. And that thought scared her, almost as much as the thought of him dying did.

Because, God help her, she loved him. And she had no idea what to do about that.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: **Four more chapters to go. _


	26. Chapter 26

November 2, 1973

Rahne knew something was wrong as soon as she stepped inside their living room. She hadn't liked the new living quarters as much as their old home, but she knew it was important to be near the school. Her mother had given her her own key a long time ago, and when she got off classes she would usually go straight home to get rid of her backpack.

It was only meant to be a quick trip, but Rahne's hackles rose as she looked around. The whole place smelt like tears and sweat, mixed in with an unhealthy dose of adrenaline. It was an uncomfortably familiar scent, one that Rahne had thought she wouldn't have to smell anymore.

She heard a noise and stiffened her spine, sniffing the air again. She relaxed slightly when she recognized her mother's scent, masked slightly with the honey shampoo she liked. But the scent of tears grew stronger as she grew closer.

Her mother opened the door and smiled at her. Besides some slight blotches on her skin, she didn't look like she'd been crying. If she'd just been looking at her, she wouldn't have known. But Rahne could still smell it on her, knew that distress like that didn't go away that easy.

She had been crying an awful lot for it to survive a shower. Maybe that's why she had done it, but it hadn't been enough.

"Good to see you Rahne," her mother said.

Rahne didn't move forwards. The scent of tears was too strong.

"You've been crying mom," she said.

Her mother's smile faltered.

"I'm fine Rahne," she said.

Rahne shook her head.

"I can smell it," she said, "Mom, why were you crying?"

Her mother turned away. Rahne looked around, grasping the straps of her backpack. She wished that someone else would do this for her. She had never been good at conversations, but it was her mother.

Moira had given her everything when she had become her mother. What little Rahne could do for her, she had to do.

"Rahne, it's not something you have to be worried about," her mother said.

"It's not okay mom," she said, "You were crying."

"It's alright," her mother said, that forced smile still on her face as she turned back to her.

With a sigh Rahne put down her backpack. She remembered thinking that her mother might need help to forgive Charles. It was time to do something about that thought. If this was something else, than Rahne would help with that too.

Forgiveness was more likely though. Today was the day that Charles was going to have some sort of operation performed. He'd told her not to worry about it, so she hadn't. It was obvious that her mother was worried though.

"Is it Charles?" she asked.

"What?" her mother said.

There was a real note of shock in her voice.

"So Charles," Rahne said, "We have good doctors. He will be fine."

"Why would it be Charles Rahne?" her mother asked, kneeling in front of her.

"Because he's going into surgery," said Rahne.

She twisted her hands together.

"But he will be fine," she repeated, "We have good doctors."

"I know that," her mother said, "I know that."

Even so her mother sounded uncertain. Feeling odd, Rahne looked at her for a minute.

"He thinks you don't love him," Rahne said.

Her mother stiffened and Rahne thought she saw tears begin to pool in her eyes. Rahne suddenly realized that this was about more than just forgiveness.

"But you do love him," Rahne said quietly, "That's why you care so much right now."

The tears spilled out of her mother's eyes. Her mother tried to wipe them away, but Rahne moved and wrapped her arms around her. She held her as tight as she could, wishing that her mother had things easier, that she wouldn't have to deal with this kind of pain.

Her mother held her back, stroking her hair.

"Rahne," she whispered, "Don't worry about me."

"Why?"

"Because you shouldn't have to," her mother said.

Really, she shouldn't have expected anything else from her mother. Rahne held her tighter.

"But I will," Rhane said, "Because I love you mom."

She wiggled away slightly, giving some room between her and her mother. She wanted to be able to look at her fully in the eye when she spoke. Rahne wasn't going to say much that her mother didn't already know, but that was alright.

Sometimes people needed to remind you of things.

"I love you very much," she said, "And loving can hurt."

Gnawing on her tongue, Rahne leaned her head forwards so that her forehead touched her mother's. Her mother needed to understand.

"I loved Doug," she said, "Still do."

Her mother's eyes met hers, questioning. Rahne didn't blame her: she had never told her that.

"Like Charles loves you or you love him?" Rahne asked, "Dunno. Didn't think about it. But I knew it was love. I loved him, like I love you, like I love Kurt. Different levels and types, but it's all love."

She shrugged.

"That's what God said," she said, "Because he wanted us all to love each other. He loves us all. So it's all love, just different love."

Her mind went back to the last time that she had played with Doug, teasing him and listening to him fill her silence.

"It hurts Doug left," Rahne said. "Hurts when you're sad. Hurts when Kurt gets homesick. Love hurts."

Her words became hesitant. Everything she was doing felt hesitant.

"I know I hurt you," she said.

Her mother put both of her hands on Rahne's face. The tears had stopped, and she just looked fierce now.

"You've never hurt," she said.

Rahne reached out and touched her mother's shoulder.

"One shot here," she said softly.

She moved her hand so that it rested on her mother's rib, a few inches above her hip.

"One shot here," she said.

Her mother sighed.

"Rahne, I don't mind that kind of pain," she said.

Rahne frowned. Her mother laughed softly.

"Well, it does hurt," she said, "But I told you once that they couldn't hurt me. Physically, yes, they might be able to. But, in here..."

She touched her heart.

"They can't hurt me here," her mother said, "And that's what matters to me. And you've never hurt me here."

"And Charles hurt you there?" asked Rahne.

The hand on her mother's heart paused before letting it fall to her lap.

"Yes," she said.

Rahne looked up to the sky, searching for inspiration. Perhaps somewhere God was looking down, watching to see what she would do next. Was this a test? She hoped not. Rather, Rahne hoped he would give her some inspiration soon, some strength to say what she thought she had to say.

A thought came to her, and she winced. She really didn't want to ask this question.

"If I hurt you like that, will you not love me?" Rahne asked.

Her mother looked shocked again, and Rhane instantly relaxed.

"Of course I'd love you!" her mother said, "There is nothing you could do to make me not love you."

Although Rahne was relieved, there was another question she had to ask.

"Then why don't you forgive him?" she asked.

"It's different," her mother said, "You're my daughter."

Rahne blinked a few times.

"That's what he said," she said.

There was a war going on in her mother's eyes. Rahne really wanted to stop now, but she could feel something in her head pushing her onwards. Whether it was God or her own conscience, she wasn't sure.

Maybe they were the same thing.

"You two are so alike," Rahne said.

Her mother bowed her head.

"I know."

"Then what is it?" Rahne asked, "Why can't you forgive him? Why won't you trust him?"

The last few words had left her lips before she knew she was going to say them. Her mother looked up at Rahne, and she could still see the conflict there. Then, there was a split second where she saw it all resolve in her mother's eyes.

Before she could ask what was going on inside her mother's head, her mother pulled her into her arms again, stroking her hair.

* * *

><p>Sometimes Moira wondered how her life had gotten to the point it had. If she concentrated she could still remember being taught how to punch a man by her father and struggling with braces. Her childhood had been very normal after all. So had the first part of her life really, and it had only really become tough when she had declared her desire to join the CIA.<p>

Then things had turned upside down. She'd met Charles and learned about mutants. So soon after that her life had gone spinning out of her control. Everything had begun to crumble and fail, and she had been stuck without a direction.

And then Rahne had appeared. Her daughter had come to her with a malnourished, broken body and a cracked soul. She had latched onto her, looking for love and protection, and Moira had given her everything that she could, hoping it would be enough.

No matter what had happened, Rahne had been her anchor. She had been her drive and, for such a long time, she had been the only thing that made waking up worth it. And now, in the midst of what had to be her greatest struggle, Rahne was grounding her again.

"Mom?" she whispered.

Moira held onto her tighter.

"I love you Rahne," she said.

Her daughter sighed and Moira closed her eyes. She thought about Charles, about what he had written about trust. When Rahne had spoken the word something iside of Moira had just broken.

She hadn't thought that Charles hadn't trusted her: just that he hadn't loved her enough to keep her by his side in the face of danger. The fact that his reason had been completely different had been shocking, and she had had to struggle to accommodate it in her view of the world.

He had loved her, but he had been too afraid for her. And what was she doing now? She was too afraid to love him, afraid that he would hurt her again. She was afraid to take a chance with him.

_Really? You're afraid to take a chance? That's all?_

Moira smiled. The sarcastic voice inside of her had returned in full force. Yes, it was time to remember who she was. She still needed to talk to Charles, to figure out a few things, but she could talk to him.

She wasn't a coward.

"Thank you Rahne," Moira said.

She let go of her daughter and kissed her on her forehead.

"Sometimes I forget just how fast you've been growing," she said.

"Kurt's still taller than me," Rahne said.

"You know what I mean," said Moira.

She drew away and gave Rahne a thoughtful look. She would have to ask this question sooner or later.

"What do you think of Charles Rahne?" she asked.

Rahne paused, deep in thought. She twisted her hands together.

"I think he's a nice man," she said, "He's fun, and he's a good person to be around. I think he cares about people, really does care. And I think he's strong."

"I'm glad," Moira said, "I haven't made a decision on anything yet, but I'm glad that you think that."

She kissed her on the forehead again.

"Because I wouldn't even consider having anyone in my life that you didn't like," she said.


	27. Chapter 27

November 2, 1973

Rahne could only feel relief when she watched her mother walk out of the room. She wasn't sure if she had forgiven Charles, but she was reasonably confident that she would do so. That was enough for her. That and how her mother had stopped crying.

She went into her room and put her backpack at the foot of her bed. She pulled out her lunch box and put it in the kitchen so that it could air out. Once everything was ship shape, she walked out of the apartment and locked the door.

Now that that was taken care of, she was free to wonder. What would happen if her mother forgave Charles? It would be good for her, and it would prove that she was just as strong as Rahne knew she was. That part was easy.

The next part, not so much. Her mother loved Charles: that much was obvious. He loved her back: that was obvious too. What wasn't obvious was what would happen when they let each other know how they felt.

In the stories the hero always married the heroine, but there had never been a child involved in all of that. Rahne paused and twisted her hands together. She knew it was silly to worry about this sort of thing when the two of them weren't even together, but it was going to happen, and she needed to think about it.

No matter what happened, she knew that she had a place in it. Her mother had said she wouldn't consider anybody in her life who Rahne didn't like. That meant that what Rahne thought was very important to her. Rahne felt happy: no matter how old she was she loved how much her mother loved her.

Since Rahne liked Charles, and since he obviously made her mother smile, she didn't have any doubts about letting him into her life. He was a good man, and she couldn't see how letting him into her mother's life would have any sort of adverse affects. Not on her mother anyway

Obviously, if her mother and Charles grew closer, they would get married. That was the thought that made Rahne pause a bit, but only for a bit. He would be her stepfather if that happened. Maybe he would let her drop the 'step' and just call him 'father.' A stepfather was pretty much a father. She didn't know just what to think about that.

Rahne had had two fathers before Charles, and she wasn't sure how he fit either of those models. One of them was her heavenly father, who she had known loved her from the minute she'd picked up a Bible. He'd always protected her, she was sure of that. He'd decided that her mother was going to be in her life: the same thing might be happening with Charles.

Her earthly father had tried to kill her. The memories became fuzzier with every day, but some things remained very heavily in focus. She remembered the hurt, the rejection, and finally, hearing that she was about to lose her life. Then she had met her mother, and her mother had broken his nose. Her mother had a habit of doing that to people who hurt her.

After that he'd shot her mother, but she had lived. Her mother always lived. Rahne wondered if, maybe, she should tell her mother that the man leading the crowd had been her father. No: it was better to put that behind her.

Charles would be better than him. Anyone would be really, but it still made her nervous. She wondered if he would stay on Muir Island, or if they would have to go to wherever he lived. Rahne thought about it for a minute before dismissing the thought. They weren't even together.

She had to stay positive and think of good things. Things would be so much better now that the cloud that had hung over her mother was gone. Maybe she should tell Kurt about this, allow him to celebrate with her and get her mind off things.

She was about to do that when she saw Sam carry a box into her mother's office. Curious, she followed him in.

"Sam?" she asked.

Sam turned and smiled, putting the desk down on her mother's desk.

"Heya Rahne," he said, "Didn't see ya there."

"What's that?" she asked.

"Oh, somethin Charles sent ya mama," he said.

Rahne approached the box curiously. It was too big to be flowers, and she doubted that it was something grandiose. He didn't seem like he would be the type to give her mother over-the-top gifts.

"Or you actually," Sam said, frowning at the label, "Looks like it's ta ya. Overnight shipment. Pretty expensive."

She stared at the box, even more curious now. Rahne approached and looked at the label. True to Sam's word, the box had her name on it underneath the address.

"Can I open it?" she asked.

"Weeeelllll," Sam said.

He looked around, and then grinned at her.

"Sure," he said.

Rahne clambered up to the desk. She was almost tall enough to the point where she wouldn't have to do that anymore. She morphed her hand and used her claws to shred through the tape while trying to do minimal damage to the cardboard.

Once she opened the box she could see where newspaper had been thrown in haphazardly to cushion the box's contents. Rahne began tossing it out, and then stared at what she found, feeling a little lost.

Hesitantly, she reached out and picked one up. Sam looked over her shoulder and whistled.

"Charles has got some nice taste in books, ah can tell ya that," he said.

_"You've just been reading the wrong books," Charles said, "I'll see if I can find something a little more suitable."_

Rahne turned over _The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe_ in her hands.

"Do you know what it's about?" she asked.

"Sure do," Sam said, "Was one o my favorites growin up. It's a great adventure story bout kids who go to another world and have an adventure."

He scratched the back of his neck, giving her a thoughtful look.

"Got a lot of Christian imagery," he said, "Has a lotta parallels ta the Bible."

Rahne gripped the book tighter. She suddenly understood why Charles had sent the package. She clutched it to her chest and then peered at the other contents of the box.

"There's more," she said.

"Seven all together," Sam said cheerfully, "He wrote lots a books."

The book felt heavy in her hands. She looked down at the cover, at the picture of a man with goat legs with an umbrella and a scarf.

"I really like Charles," she said.

"He's hard not ta like," Sam said.

She looked up at him and smiled. Any lingering doubts she'd had about Charles fled, and she was left with only the memory of opening the box and finding the books. Charles was going to be a good father. He wouldn't hurt her, not when he'd gone out of his way to do something as beautiful as this for her.

He'd known what she would want in a story, and she knew that he would want her to share her newfound books with Kurt. They could read them together, and she could talk to Charles about them, and her mother too. She grinned and clutched the book to her chest again. They were going to have so much fun as a family.

There was a commotion from the hallway and Sam looked up. Rahne clutched the book tighter as she heard footsteps in the hall.

"No, you don't understand," a female voice said, "I need to see Director MacTaggert immediately. I need to-"

"I understand perfectly, but you can't go barging around like this," another voice said, "There are a lot of things going on today, and I can get you the registration forms myself."

Rahne recognized the second voice as Hank, but she was having more trouble identifying the first. It was familiar, but it definitely wasn't an employee. She would have known them. So Rahne sat down on the edge of her mother's desk, still holding her book and dangling her feet over the edge.

"But once she sees my name she won't-"

"Ma'am-"

"Ah should go out there," Sam muttered, "Hank's got enough ta deal with."

Rahne watched as Sam opened the door. She craned her neck so that she could see over his shoulder, slight curiosity sparking inside of her. When she saw who it was her heart skipped a beat.

When she saw who was standing next to her, her heart stopped altogether.

"Doug," she whispered.

Doug looked up from his mother's side. Without another word, forgetting that his mother was right there, the mother who had said they couldn't play together anymore, she put the book down and slid off the desk. Moments later she had rushed forward and flung her arms around Doug's neck.

He hugged her back, digging his fingernails into her back. Rahne started crying, and she thought Doug was doing the same too. Charles was smart, and about more than just books. Their paths had come together again. She wasn't sure why or how, but her best friend had come back to her.

When she stopped crying she looked up. All of the adults were staring at her, except Doug's mother. She was looking away, shame-faced.

"This is my friend," Rahne said, "Doug."

"Oh," Sam said.

He looked at Doug's mother, and his face hardened.

"Which means you're Mrs. Ramsay, right?" he asked.

Rahne turned her back on the two of them.

"You're back," she said, "I can't believe it."

"I know right?" Doug laughed, "You can't believe how awesome it was to find out that this place is a school now!"

She looked back over at his mother, who was in a heated conversation with Sam. Hank was standing nearby, watching them exchange words with no small amount of interest. If Rahne wanted, she knew that she could simply concentrate a little and hear every word they said.

Instead, she tuned it out and turned to Doug.

"How come you're back?" she asked, "Your parents always-"

"They're dumb," Doug muttered, "Even now, my dad is such an idiot."

He glanced quickly at his mom before look back at Rahne. He smiled again.

"But I get to see you again, so it isn't all bad," he said.

"And I'm so happy," Rahne said, "But how?"

Doug blinked at her.

"You're very articulate now," he said.

"Sort of," Rahne said.

Her friend grinned.

"It's good," he announced.

"Thank you," Rahne said, feeling a little heat in her cheeks and no small amount of pride.

She swallowed.

"But how?" she asked.

Still grinning, Doug walked into her mother's office. The adults were too busy to notice that they had gone. With a nod of his head Doug pointed to the radio.

"Watch this," he said.

She thought she saw his lips move, but nothing came out. A second later the radio burst into life, playing a song. Rahne's jaw dropped and she stared at her friend. His lips moved a little bit again, and then the radio turned off.

He turned to her, his smile getting wider by the second.

"I'm like you," Doug said, "They brought me here because they don't know what else to do with me. And now, I think I might get to stay here."

Rahne reached out and hugged him again. There were more tears welling her eyes, but in the past few hours she had helped her mother, possibly gained a kind father, and then regained her best friend.

_Thank you God_, she thought.

"I think this is fate," Doug said.

"Yeah," Rahne said, wiping away some of her tears, "It is."


	28. Chapter 28

November 2, 1973

The pain in Charles's head was slowly but surely going away. He'd felt a bit like he'd been hit like a truck after the surgery, but like the truck had only hit his head. Being able to lie down and watch the world go soft had been a blessing.

When the drugs had worn off and the pain was all but gone, he began to worry. He hadn't seen Moira since he'd woken up. That was natural enough, since he had just gotten out of surgery. However, when Hank came in, he'd realized that they were giving him visitors and that Moira hadn't been among them

Hank had been enthusiastic, telling him that the surgeon thought that he'd gotten all of it and that things were going to be alright. He also told him about a rather touching scene he'd run into while trying to stop what he'd thought was a crazy woman dragging her son.

The last story made Charles smile. Rahne hadn't just gotten his books that day: she'd gotten her friend back too. He was glad that things were working out for her, but he couldn't help but inquire about Moira.

Hank looked a little uncomfortable when the topic came up.

"You did give her the letter, didn't you?" Charles asked.

"Yes, of course I did," said Hank, "And uh, she read it."

From the expression on Hank's face he could see that, whatever her reaction had been, it hadn't been positive.

"And?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Hank sighed.

"She got up and hurried off," he said, "I think she was crying."

Charles closed his eyes. That could mean any number of things, but he didn't think that they were good things.

"Charles."

He opened his eyes reluctantly. Hank was looking at him with sympathy.

"Sometimes you have to let things go, you know?" he asked.

"I know that Hank," Charles said, not quite managing to keep the irritation out of his voice, "I was just hoping that I wouldn't have to let go of her too."

Hank fell silent and looked down. Charles gritted his teeth.

"I'm sorry," he said.

His friend didn't say anything, and Charles forced himself to exhale slowly.

"I am sorry," he said, "Really."

"So am I," said Hank, "I...just, I'm sorry that things worked out this way."

Charles nodded, holding his hands on his lap. Where was he supposed to go from here? He wasn't ready to concede defeat. Not yet. Not until he'd heard a firm rejection from her lips, and even then, he knew that he'd still hold onto some hope that they could still be friends. Any sort of tie to her was one to be coveted, as pathetic as that was.

Getting anything done would be difficult as long as he was bedridden though. Perhaps he should try to find her, to talk things out. He had the feeling that his doctor would take a rather dim view of him travelling, even in a wheelchair.

He was about to ask Hank if he could smuggle him out when there was a knock on the door. Charles's heart leapt into his throat. Hank gave a look at Charles, and then walked over to the door and opened it.

Moira was standing there, just like Charles had hoped she would be. Her face looked a little blotchy, and Charles wondered just how hard she had cried after she'd seen his letter. He hadn't meant to make her cry.

"You look good for having just had brain surgery," Moira said.

"I try," Charles said, his throat feeling dry.

She smiled, but he could see that there was something nervous about it.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, "I ran into an old friend in the hallway."

The word 'friend' was tinged with disgust. He figured that she could only mean Doug's mother.

"But it means that I have a new student," she said.

"I'm happy for you," Charles said.

"Same here," she said, her eyes roaming the line of stitches around the left side of his head.

The room fell silent. Hank glanced at the two of them and ducked his head.

"I'll um, give you two a moment," he said.

Moira watched as he all but fled from the room. Even after the door closed, Moira continued to stare in his direction.

"He's not very subtle, is he?" she asked.

"No," Charles said, "But he has a good heart. Probably the best man I know."

Moira continued to stare at the door. He saw her shoulders tense as she turned to face him. Charles tried to figure out what she was thinking from her face, but she wasn't giving anything away. He considered going into her mind for a second before brushing the idea away. After the last time he doubted he was welcome there.

"I read your letter," she said.

Charles nodded.

"I...I thought I was going to live," he said, "But...a friend showed me that life can change in the blink of an eye."

It was yet another thing that Charles wanted to thank Logan for when they finally did meet.

"I didn't want to leave anything unsaid," he said.

"And this?" she asked, gesturing to the room, "Did you plan for the afterward where we had to talk about it?"

"No," Charles said.

"Why not?"

"Because I had no idea what you would say," Charles said, "I still don't."

Moira folded her arms across her chest. Her eyes never left his, and Charles began to feel slightly unnerved.

"You might as well have written a letter with the words 'I love you' scribbled on it in highlighter," Moira said.

"Yes, but I couldn't find a highlighter," said Charles.

The words were a little desperate, but he couldn't think of anything to say. Her stance softened a little, but her arms remained firmly tucked across her chest. Charles could feel the barrier between them, the distance, as though it were a tangible thing stabbing into him.

"You're not denying it?" she asked.

"I can say it out loud if that's what you want," Charles said, "I love you Moira. I loved you at Westchester, when I was too scared to keep you. And I still love you now that I'm a braver man."

This time Moira did look away, and Charles felt his heart beat faster.

"I'm not the woman you knew all those years ago," she said, "I've changed Charles."

"I know that," Charles said.

"Do you?" said Moira, "I...I understand that you're impressed with Muir Island. But I've been doing more than that. I've been organizing people, raising a daughter-"

"Breaking people's noses?" Charles supplied.

Moira looked back at him, surprised. Charles couldn't help but laughing.

"Rahne told me," he said, "She said that you were defending her."

His lips turned up into a smile. Charles could imagine her now in all of her righteous fury.

"Moira, I never told you why I fell in love with you in the first place, did I?" he asked.

Moira shook her head. She still looked confused, but her eyes were back on him. Good. If nothing else, he wanted to remember exactly what she looked like that day.

"I fell in love with you because you were strong, brave, resourceful," he said, "You were compassionate and smart, willing to sacrifice yourself for what you believed in. You personified every good quality that I saw in humanity."

Her eyes softened and he wished that he was able to get up and touch her cheek, to pull her close as he spoke.

"All you've done in the years since we last saw was amplify those qualities," he said, "If anything, I think I might be more in love with you now than I was all those years ago."

Moira took a step closer to the bed. Her arms were still across his chest, but if she came a little closer he might be able to reach out and touch her hand.

"I love you Moira," he said, "And I mean it. If you could love me back, then I would want nothing more than your love in return."

"And Rahne?" Moira asked quietly.

Charles smiled. Finally, she was asking easy questions.

"The other day I was thinking that, if I'd had children, a daughter, then I would have liked her to be like Rahne," he said, "And I mean that. She's a wonderful child Moira."

She nodded, but didn't say anything. In the ensuing silence, he could feel worry begin to grow. He had to give her everything, leave nothing out. Something inside him was telling him that, if he lost her today, then there wouldn't be a second chance.

He had to try more.

"Moira, you were the most precious thing in my life at the time," he said, "I'm not sure if I realized it consciously, which is why I had such a hard time realizing why I had sent you away. But all I knew was that I couldn't let them harm you. And I just ended up hurting you in return. If I could take it back-"

"No."

Charles stopped in mid-sentence. Moira was looking at him now, a strange expression in her eyes.

"What?" he whispered.

"No," she said, "You can't change what happened, and neither can I. What you did wasn't fair and it wasn't right. But if you had let me stay, the CIA might have come after us. Even if it didn't..."

She let out a deep breath.

"Even if it didn't, if I had stayed with you then I probably wouldn't have gone to Scotland," she said, "I...I might have never met Rahne."

She put a hand on the wall for support, her eyes meeting his again.

"Your decision was wrong Charles," she said, "But...sometimes I wonder if there's a bigger design at play."

"Maybe," Charles said, "But...if that's true...then..."

He swallowed.

"If that's true then it also brought us back together again," he said.

Moira didn't say anything. Charles swallowed, wishing once again that he could reach out and hold her, let her see what he was feeling.

"When we parted ways, all those years ago, sent me away, you were right about one thing," Moira said, "I was ready to die for you. You and everyone else."

His heart broke. He couldn't believe that she had loved him just as much as he had loved him.

"And meeting you again, that hurt," Moira said, "And seeing how you were...how optimistic you are about everything...how you still see the world like a big chance, and this new bravery you have when you talk about the future...what you said about Rahne..."

Her arms fell to her side.

"I think I'm ready to live for you," she said.

Charles's eyes widened. Before he could speak she had crossed the room and cupped his face in her hands. Her lips pressed down on his and he closed his eyes. His hands reached up and buried themselves in her hair, pulling her as close as he dared.

One of his hands moved down her back, making sure that this was real, that she was really in his arms. He pulled his lips away so that he could scatter kisses over her face, taste her skin and feel her warmth.

Finally he just held her close, his hands caressing the side of her face as memories of love flooded back to him. However, when she leaned her head into the crook of his neck, he decided that the present was much better. It was the only time when he had a future where she had a place.

"I love you," he said, "I love you so much. You'll never know-"

Moira lifted her head and silenced him with a light kiss. When she pulled away she touched her forehead to his, her hands on his shoulders.

"You're right," she said, "I don't know."

One of her hands moved from his shoulder onto his heart.

"And you'll never know how much I love you," she said.

Moira smiled.

"Let's find out," she said, "Together."

Charles closed his eyes.

"There's nothing I look forward to more."


	29. Chapter 29

November 3, 2008

Logan saw understanding dawn on the Professor's face at his words. Feeling relieved that he didn't have to explain himself any more, Logan sank down into one of the chairs in front of Charles's desk.

The world had been crazy enough in the past few minutes. It was good to have someone who understood him.

"Thank you Logan," Charles said quietly, "You have no idea how many times I've wanted to say that over these past few years. I even managed it once or twice. Not that you understand...but still."

"I probably thought you were nuts Chuck," said Logan.

"I daresay," Charles said.

He leaned back in his chair.

"But I mean it. Thank you for what you did Logan," he said, "Thank you."

"I saw Rogue and Jean on the way in here," Logan answered, "That's thanks enough."

Charles laughed and shook his head.

"It doesn't even begin to cover it," he said, "You changed so much more than just the war Logan."

Logan sat up a little straighter. Despite the weariness in his bones and the way his head was spinning from seeing his dead friends and the woman he'd loved and killed alive again, he was curious. Charles was looking at him with pride and a deep, profound gratitude.

"Whaddaya mean?" he asked.

Charles frowned.

"Surely you've noticed the differences in this time?" he asked.

"Beyond people who are dead walking around again?" asked Logan, "No."

His friend looked surprised.

"That comment on the last thirty years or so wasn't an exaggeration," Logan said.

Charles clasped his hands in his lap thoughtfully.

"Curious," he said, "I can remember both pasts, but you can't remember this world."

"Not a thing," said Logan, "Last thing I remember is getting tossed in the river by Mags."

He made a face.

"We don't work together now or anything right?" he asked.

Charles sighed.

"No," he said, "Erik is still...figuring things out."

Logan resisted the urge to comment on that. For whatever reason Charles still clung onto hope that his friend would come around. He didn't believe it himself, but he'd learned long ago that his observations on Magneto weren't particularly welcome.

"So that hasn't changed," he said.

"No," Charles said, "But other things have. For the better."

Charles shook his head again.

"Do you remember when Europe went black?" he asked.

Logan nodded. Things like that were hard to forget. He'd remembered hearing as every single European mutant contact they'd had had disappeared. America might have started the anti-mutant crusade, but Trask Industries's greatest market had always been in the countries on the fringes of the iron curtain. There had just been so much fear there of the Russians, of the Europeans, of mutants on both sides.

They had responded by doing the one thing they could within their borders: eliminate mutants.

"Do you remember Muir Island?" asked Charles.

He had to concentrate, but the name did flicker in his memory. He'd only ever run into it three times. He'd been used to combat threats in North America, both in Canada where the terrain was like the back of his hand and America.

He'd made one trip to Europe soon after the blackout, when they were trying to establish if anyone at all was still out there. Logan had managed to find a small fortress on Muir Island on the outskirts of Scotland. It was still holding out, still fighting and was willing to establish communications with them.

The second time had been when they had sent one of their operatives, a man in his early twenties called Cypher, to help with some hacking. Logan thought that his real name might have been Doug, he'd heard Charles call him that once, but he'd been key in getting some data on the Sentinels. He'd had a gift, both with technology and words. Logan hadn't had much to do with that: he'd been mostly used for his destructive powers. Sometimes it was good to be the best at doing things that weren't 'pretty.'

After that he hadn't heard anything else from them for the next three years. Then he'd heard that they'd fallen, that the entire island had been destroyed. Satellite images, back when they'd still had satellite, had shown piles of rubble where the island had used to be.

At the time he had felt a slight swell of defeat, but nothing that had come remotely close to breaking him. He'd barely known them, and they'd lost bases in the past after all. But now that he concentrated, he could remember that something had been different about the destruction of Muir Island.

"When it went down, you acted strange," Logan said.

"Strange?" said Charles.

Logan wasn't sure how to interpret his tone.

"You never said anything to me," Charles said.

"I asked Hank. He just said that the two of ya went way back, back before Cuba," he said, "Told me not ta bother ya about it."

"How like Hank," Charles chuckled.

He looked at his desk and reached out to one of the pictures. Charles picked it up and fingered the edges of the frame.

"You met the woman who ran it, didn't you?" he asked.

"Yeah, Maria, right?" Logan said.

"Moira," Charles corrected, "Moira MacTaggert. An exceptional woman. She adopted a mutant daughter, turned what little holdings she had into a sanctuary for her daughter and the rest of her daughter's kind."

He closed his eyes. A suspicion was beginning to form in Logan's mind.

"In the past that we were fighting to change, she died, along with her daughter and her daughter's fiancé on that island," he said.

"And here?" Logan asked.

Charles laughed.

"Here things turned out rather differently," he said.

Logan was about to ask for specifics when Charles turned the picture around. Charles was in it, bald but a good deal younger. A woman was kneeling next to him so that she could be level with him, twine her hands with his.

She was also, very clearly, wearing a wedding dress.

"I'll be damned," Logan said.

"Almost thirty years now," said Charles.

For the first time Logan realized that Charles was wearing a wedding ring on his hand. He wanted to smack himself in the forehead. He'd have to be much more careful in this present. Little details like that were going to mean everything in the coming days.

Still, the idea that Charles had gotten married in this world made him grin.

"And that daughter of hers?" he asked.

"She's called me father for that same amount of time," Charles said, "Anything and everything a man could want in a daughter. Rahne has always taken after her mother when it comes to being exceptional."

He put the picture back and reached for another one.

"In the past, I never had the courage to go out and find her," he said, "I'd wronged her, and I had just put it behind me, like I'd put so much else behind me. But when you came, when we changed the future, I believe that I became more responsible for my past actions."

"Ya apologized?" Logan said.

"I was willing to grovel, but it didn't come to that," Charles said, chuckling.

His friend was chuckling a lot now, a smile not far from his lips. He was much lighter than he'd remembered him, even before the war. Logan could tell that, whoever she was, Moira had been the cause of that. He had the feeling that he'd be finding out a lot about her in the coming years.

"But, once again, it was more than that," Charles said.

He was staring at the second picture earnestly now.

"In another world, our love was counted in days," he said, "In this one we were married for years, built two schools that supported each other even though they were separated by an ocean. Her daughter is my daughter, and when Moira gave birth to our son, our family grew a little bigger."

Once more, Logan wasn't given a chance to say anything. Charles turned the picture around. Charles and Moira were seated outside the school. Rahne was standing behind Moira, one of her arms around the shoulders of a teenage boy.

A teenage boy who looked almost exactly like Charles.

"David is, of course, older now. He's rather busy in Washington at the moment, so you won't see him right away," Charles said, "Our family has changed since that picture was taken, yet another thing I have to thank you for. When Rahne got married, she asked me to go down the aisle with her."

"Are ya trying ta tell me you're a grandfather too now Chuck?" Logan asked, incredulous.

Charles smiled.

"His name is Tir, after some ancient warrior," said Charles, "Doug, my son-in-law, is quite the scholar."

"Shit," Logan said.

Charles replaced the picture and folded his hands again.

"I wouldn't put it quite that way," he said, "But I will say that, sometimes, roads diverge. But sometimes, if you're lucky, those roads meet again. I'm happy to say that, once these roads met, they didn't diverge again."

The door opened. He had a feeling who it was, because most people knocked. Logan recognized Moira immediately when she walked in, even though she was older than she was in either picture. She was shuffling papers around, but stopped when she saw Logan.

"Meeting run late?" she asked, looking at Charles.

"Not exactly," Charles said.

Logan grunted and got up.

"Think I'm gonna have a lie down after hearing all of that," he said.

"You've got a class soon," Moira said.

"Tell em I'm sick," said Logan.

Moira looked like she was about to protest, but Charles shook his head.

"It's alright Moira," he said.

He looked over at Logan.

"He's earned it."

* * *

><p>Moira watched as Logan left the room, shutting the door behind him.<p>

"You give him too much leeway," she said.

"One day I'll tell you the full extent of what he's done for us, and then I think you'll understand," he said.

"I look forward to it," Moira said, "Because you let him get away with a lot."

Charles just smiled at her. She put the papers down on his desk. It could wait for a few minutes.

"Rahne called," she said, "She's going to be bringing her family down for Thanksgiving."

"Good," Charles said, "That means everyone will be here. David did confirm that he could get the time off, correct?"

"He did," Moira agreed, "He says airfare to Scotland is going up, but he's coming. Sam's already booked our flights over there."

She sat down on the edge of his desk.

"If we didn't own our own jet, our airfare would be outrageous by this point," Moira said, "All those trips back and forth. Of all the times for routine repairs."

"Well, it's not like we can let Sam have all of the fun on Muir Island," he said, "Although, we're going to have quite the discussion about where we're going to live when we decide to retire."

Moira smiled. She reached out and ran her fingers over the slight scar on the left side of his head. The scar had faded with the years, but she knew it intimately by now.

"I don't think I'm ever going to retire," she said, "You?"

"No," he said, "Not as long as you're by my side."

Moira smiled again. She leaned in and kissed him, letting herself get lost in his touch. After nearly thirty years of marriage and giving birth to his son, Moira had never gotten used to the way Charles kissed her, like she was his everything.

And the look in his eyes when he pulled away let her know that he never quite got used to it either.

"I guess we'll never retire then, because I'm not leaving," she said.

Charles grasped her hand and brought it up to his lips.

"I know," he said, "I know."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: **Thanks for reading everyone! I'm a big fan of the Charles/Moira pairing, although it doesn't seem to get enough love on this site. My first X-men fanfiction, "All We Are," was a Charles/Moira fic, but sometimes other pairings get put in there. For my long-term readers you'll notice some of my recurring couples, like Kurt/Amanda and Rahne/Doug. _

_One of the reasons I'm such a big Charles/Moira fan is that they're so alike and, in many ways, make a perfect team. They both see the world in the same ways and, independently, set up schools and sanctuaries for mutants. Moira's sanctuary was inspired by her son in the comics, but since she didn't seem to be married in the movies, I had it be inspired by her adopted daughter instead. _

_The big thing about this fic, for me, was having no major villain. Charles and Moira certainly encountered roadblocks, but most of them were internalized. "X-men: Days Of Future Past" has changed a lot abut the X-men films, possibly including the first two and certainly the third movie. The possibilities are endless, and I think it's fair to say that Charles's attitudes probably changed as a result of it._

_Things are getting busy here, so you won't be seeing me for another two months. Until then, I'd like to give some special shout outs to__ WaitingForLife2Begin, who reviewed just about every chapter, Chocolate and Caramel, Knight of Wings, and Orihime-san!_


End file.
